^^ 


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STEVE  TEAGEB 


^    .     .RU.TIX 


STEVE  YEAGER 


BY 

WILLIAM  MacLeod  KAINE 


NEW  YORK 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP 

PUBLISHERS 

MkIb  m  the  Unked  Sutet  cf  America 


st 


COPVRXORT,  I915,  BY  WILLIAM  MACLEOD  RAUVS 
ALL  RIGHTS  R£S£RVED 


Contents 


I.  Steve  makes  a  Mistake i 

n.  "Enough's  a-plenty" 10 

III.  Chad  Harrison 25 

IV.  The  Extra 83 

V.  Yeager  asks  Advice 42 

VI.  Plucking  a  Pigeon 66 

VII.  Steve  tells  too  much  Truth 71 

VIII.  The  Heavy  gets  his  Time 79 

IX.  Gabriel  Pasquale 86 

X.  A  Night  Visit 06 

XI.  Chad  decides  to  get  Busy  .      .  ...  112 

Xn.  Into  the  Desert      ....  ...  121 

Xni.  The  Night  Trail 131 

XIV.  The  Cave  Men 140 

XV.  Steve  wins  a  Ham  Sandwich 153 

XVI.  The  Heavy  pays  a  Debt 166 

XVn.  Pedro  Cabenza 17r 

XVin.  Harrison  overplays  his  Hand 18: 

XIX.  The  Texan 194 

XX.  Near  the  End  of  his  Trail 207 

XXI.  A  Stage  prepared  for  Tragedy      ....  21C 

XXII.  A  Conspiracy 223 

V 


912934: 


Contents 


XXni.  Trapped 229 

XXIV.  The  Prisoner 247 

XXY.  The  Tkxan  takes  a  Long  Journey   .      .      .  257 
XXVI.  At  Sunset  .coo 266 

XXVII.   CULVERA  RECONSIDERS 274 

XXVIII.  As  Long  as  Life 284 


Steve  Yeager 

CHAPTER  r 

STEVE  MAKES  A  MISTAKE 

Steve  Yeager  held  his  bronco  to  a  Spanish 
trot.  Somewhere  in  front  of  him,  among  the 
brown  hill  swells  that  rose  and  fell  like  waves  of 
the  sea,  lay  Los  Robles  and  breakfast.  One  soli- 
tary silver  dollar,  too  lonesome  even  to  jingle,  lay 
in  his  flatulent  trouser  pocket.  After  he  and 
Four  Bits  had  eaten,  two  quarters  would  take 
the  place  of  the  big  cartwheel.  Then  would  come 
dinner,  a  second  transfer  of  capital,  and  his 
pocket  would  be  empty  as  a  cow's  stomach  after 
a  long  drive. 

Being  dead  broke,  according  to  the  viewpoint 
of  S.  Yeager,  is  right  and  fitting  after  a  jaunt  to 
town  when  one  has  a  good  job  back  in  the  hills. 
But  it  happened  he  had  no  more  job  than  a  rab- 
bit. Wherefore,  to  keep  up  his  spirits  he  chanted 
the  endless  metrical  version  of  the  adventures 
of  Sam  Bass,  who 

"...  started  out  to  Texas  a  cowboy  for  to  be. 
And  a  kinder-hearted  fellow  you  scarcely  ever'd  see." 

Steve  had  not  quit  his  job.  It  had  quit  him. 
A  few  years  earUer  the  Lone  Star  Cattle  Com- 

1 


Steve  Yeager 

pany  had  reigned  supreme  in  Dry  Sandy  Valley 
and;  the  territQijr:  tributary  thereto.  Itsf  riders 
had  been  kings  of  the  range.  That  was  before  the 
tJdelof  Miitlemiaut-had  spilled  into  the  valley,  be^ 
fore  nesters  had  driven  in  their  prairie  schooners, 
homesteaded  the  water-holes,  and  strung  barb- 
wire  fences  across  the  range.  Line-riders  and  dry 
farmers  and  irrigators  had  pushed  the  cow- 
puncher  to  one  side.  Sheep  had  come  bleating 
across  the  desert  to  wage  war  upon  the  cattle. 
Finally  Uncle  Sam  had  sliced  off  most  of  the 
acreage  still  left  and  called  it  a  forest  reserve. 

Wherefore  the  Lone  Star  outfit  had  thrown 
up  its  hands,  sold  its  holdings,  and  moved  to 
Los  Angeles  to  live.  Wherefore  also  Steve  Yeager, 
who  did  not  know  Darwin  from  a  carburetor, 
had  by  process  of  evolution  been  squeezed  out  of 
the  occupation  he  had  followed  all  of  his  twenty- 
three  years  since  he  could  hang  on  to  a  saddle- 
horn.  He  had  mournfully  foreseen  the  end  when 
the  schoolhouse  was  built  on  Pine  Knob  and 
little  folks  went  down  the  road  with  their  arms 
twined  around  the  waist  of  teacher.  After  griz- 
zled Tim  Sawyer  made  bowlegged  tracks  straight 
for  that  schoolmarm  and  matrimony,  his  friends 
realized  that  the  joyous  whoop  of  the  puncher 
would  not  much  longer  be  heard  in  the  land.  The 
range-rider  must  dwindle  to  a  farmer  or  get  off 
the  earth.  Steve  was  getting  off  the  earth. 

2 


Steve  Yeager 

Since  Steve  was  of  the  sunburnt  State,  still  a 
boy,  and  by  temperament  incurably  optimistic, 
he  sang  cheerfully.  He  wanted  to  forget  that  he 
had  eaten  neither  supper  nor  breakfast.  So  he 
carried  Mr.  Bass  through  many  adventures  til] 
that  genial  bandit 

"...  sold  out  at  Custer  City  and  there  got  on  a  spree. 
And  a  tougher  lot  of  cowboys  you  never 'd  hope  to  see.*' 

Four  Bits  had  topped  a  rise  and  followed  tha 
road  down  in  its  winding  descent.  After  the 
nomadic  fashion  of  Arizona  the  trail  circled 
around  a  tongue  of  a  foothill  which  here  jutted 
out.  Voices  from  just  beyond  the  bend  startled 
Yeager.    One  of  them  was  raised  impatiently. 

"  Won 't  do,  Harrison.  Be  rougher.  Throw  her 
on  her  knees  and  tie  her  hands." 

The  itinerant  road  brought  Steve  in  anothei 
moment  within  view.  He  saw  a  girl  picking 
poppies.  Two  men  rode  up  and  swung  from  theii 
saddles.  They  talked  with  her  threateningly. 
She  shrank  back  in  fear.  One  of  them  seized  her 
wrists  and  threw  her  down. 

"Lively,  now.  Into  the  pit  with  her.  Get  thft 
stuff  across,"  urged  a  short  fat  man  with  a  cigar 
in  his  mouth  who  was  standing  ten  or  fifteen 
yards  back  from  the  scene  of  action. 

Steve  had  put  his  horse  at  a  gallop  the  mo- 
ment the  girl  had  been  seized.  It  struck  him  there 


Steve  Yeager 

was  something  queer  about  the  aflfair,  —  some- 
thing not  quite  natural  to  which  he  could  not  put 
a  name.  But  he  did  not  stop  to  reason  out  the 
situation.  Dragging  his  pony  to  a  slithering  halt, 
he  leaped  to  the  ground. 

"  Get  busy,  Jackson.  You  ain't  in  a  restaurant 
waiting  for  a  meal,"  the  little  fat  man  reminded 
one  of  his  tools  irritably.  Then,  as  he  caught 
sight  of  Steve,  "What  the  hellP' 

Yeager 's  left  shot  forward,  all  the  weight  and 
muscle  of  one  hundred  and  seventy  pounds  of 
live  cowpuncher  behind  it.  Villain  Number  One 
went  to  the  ground  as  if  a  battering-ram  had  hit 
him  between  the  eyes. 

"Lay  hands  on  a  lady,  will  you?*' 

Steve  turned  to  Villain  Number  Two,  who 
backed  away  rapidly  in  alarm. 

"What's  eatin'  you.^  We  ain't  hurtin'  her 
any,  you  mutt." 

The  girl,  still  crouched  on  the  ground,  turned 
with  a  nervous  little  laugh  to  the  man  who  had 
been  directing  operations:  — 

"What  d'  you  know  about  that,  Billie.^  The 
rube  swallowed  it  all.  You  gotta  raise  my  sal- 
ary." 

The  cowpuncher  felt  in  the  pit  of  his  stomach 
the  same  sensation  he  had  known  when  an  ele- 
vator in  Denver  had  dropped  beneath  his  feet 
too  s*iddenly.    The  young  woman  was  Fouged 

4 


Steve  Yeager 

and  painted  to  the  ears.  Never  in  its  palmieet 
days  had  the  'Dobe  Dollar's  mirrors  reflected  a 
costume  more  gaudy  than  the  one  she  was  wear- 
ing. The  men  too  were  painted  and  dolled  up 
extravagantly  in  vaqueros'  costumes  that  were 
the  limit  of  absurdity.  Had  they  all  escaped  from 
ji  madhouse?  Or  was  he,  Steve  Yeager,  in  a  pipe- 
dream.^ 

From  a  near  grove  of  cottonwoods  half  a  doaen 
men  in  chaps  came  running.  Assured  of  their 
proximity,  the  fat  little  fellow  pawed  the  air 
with  rage. 

"Ever  see  such  rotten  luck?  Spoiled  the  whole 
scene.  Say,  you  Rip  Van  Winkle,  think  we  came 
out  here  for  the  ozone?" 

One  of  the  men  joined  the  young  woman,  who 
was  assisting  the  villain  Yeager  had  knocked 
out.  The  others  crowded  around  him  in  excite- 
ment, all  expostulating  at  once.  They  were 
dressed  wonderfully  and  amazingly  as  cow- 
pimchers,  but  they  were  painted  frauds  in  spite 
of  the  careful  ostentation  of  their  costumes. 
Steve's  shiny  leathers  and  dusty  hat  missed  the 
picturesque,  but  he  looked  indigenous  and  they 
did  not.  He  was  at  his  restful  ease,  this  slender, 
brown  man,  negligent,  careless,  eyes  twinkling 
but  alert.  The  brand  of  the  West  was  stamped 
indelibly  on  him. 

"I  ce'tainly  must  'a'  spilled  the  beans.  Looks 

5 


Steve  Yeager 

like  I  done  barked  up  the  wrong  tree,"  he  drawled 
amiably. 

A  man  who  had  been  standing  on  a  box  be- 
hind some  kind  of  a  masked  battery  jumped  down 
and  joined  the  group. 

"'Gee!  I've  got  a  bully  picture  of  our  anxious 
friend  laying  out  Harrison.  Nothing  phony 
about  that.  Three  wit.  Won't  go  in  this  reel,  but 
she'll  make  a  humdinger  in  some  other.  Say, 
didn't  Harrison  hit  the  dust  fine!  Funny  you 
lads  can't  ever  pull  off  a  fall  like  that." 

An  annoyed  voice,  both  raucous  and  sneering, 
interrupted  his  enthusiasm.  "Just  stick  around, 
Mr.  Camera  Man,  and  you  '11  get  a  chance  to  do 
another  bit  of  real  life  that  ain't  faked.  I'm 
goin'  to  hammer  the  head  off  Buttinski  pres- 
ently." 

The  camera  man,  an  alert,  boyish  fellow  as 
thin  as  a  lath,  turned  and  grinned.  Harrison  was 
sitting  up  a  little  unsteadily.  Burning  black  eyes, 
set  in  sockets  of  extraordinary  depths,  blazed 
from  a  face  sinister  enough  to  justify  Steve's 
impression  of  him  as  a  villain.  The  shoulders  of 
the  man  were  very  broad  and  set  with  the  gorilla 
hunch;  he  was  deep-chested  and  lean-loined. 
His  eyes  shifted  with  a  quick,  furtive  menace. 
His  companions  might  be  imitation  cow^^unch- 
ers,  but  if  Yeager  was  any  judge  this  was  no 
imitation  bad  man. 

6 


Steve  Yeager 

**  Going  to  eat  him  alive,  are  you?  "  the  camera 
man  wanted  to  know  pleasantly. 

Steve  pushed  through  to  Harrison.  A  whim- 
sical little  smile  of  apology  crinkled  the  boyish 
face. 

"It's  on  me,  compadre.  I'm  a  rube,  and  any« 
thing  else  you  like.  And  I  siu-e  am  sorry  for  go* 
ing  off  half-cocked." 

A  wintry  frost  was  in  the  jet  bead  eyes  that 
looked  up  at  the  puncher.  The  sitting  man  did 
not  recognize  the  extended  hand. 

"You'll  be  a  heap  sorrier  before  I'm  through 
with  you,"  he  growled.  "I'm  goin'  to  beat  your 
head  off  and  learn  you  to  mind  your  own  busi- 
ness." 

"Interesting  if  true,"  retorted  Steve  lightly. 
**And  maybeso  you're  right.  A  man  can't  al- 
ways most  likely  tell.  Take  a  watermelon  now. 
You  can't  tell  how  good  it  is  till  you  thump  it. 
Same  way  with  a  man,  I've  heard  say." 

He  turned  to  the  young  woman,  whose  bright 
brown  eyes  were  lingering  upon  him  curiously. 
This  was  no  novel  exp>erience  to  him.  He  wore 
his  splendid  youth  so  jauntily  and  yet  so  casually 
that  the  gaze  of  a  girl  was  likely  to  be  drawn  in 
his  direction  a  second  and  a  third  time.  In  spite 
of  his  youthfulness  there  was  in  his  face  a  cer- 
tain sun-and-wind-bitten  maturity,  a  steadiness 
of  the  quiet  eye  that  promised  efficiency.   The 


Steve  Yeager 

film  actress  sensed  the  same  competent  strength 
in  the  brown,  untom  hand  that  assisted  her  to 
rise  to  her  feet.  His  friendly  smile  showed  the 
flash  of  white,  regular  teeth. 

"The  rube  apologizes,  ma'am.  He's  just  in 
{rom  Cactus  Center  and  never  did  see  one  of 
those  moving-picture  outfits  before.  Thirty- 
dieven  things  were  in  sight  as  I  happened  round 
that  bend,  but  the  only  one  I  glimmed  was  you 
being  mistreated.  Corking  chance  for  a  grand- 
stand play.  So  I  sailed  in  pronto.  'Course  I 
should  've  known  better,  but  I  did  n't." 

Maisie  Winters  was  the  name  of  the  young 
woman.  She  played  the  leads  in  one  of  the  South- 
west companies  of  the  Lunar  Film  Manufactur- 
ers. Her  charming  face  was  known  and  liked  on 
the  screens  of  several  continents.  Now  it  broke 
into  lines  of  mischievous  amusement. 

*'I  don't  mind  if  Mr.  Harrison  does  n't."  She 
flashed  a  gay,  inquiring  look  toward  that  dis- 
comfited villain,  who  was  leaning  for  support  on 
his  accomplice  Jackson  and  glaring  at  Yeager. 
Impudently  she  tilted  her  chin  back  toward  the 
pimcher.  "Are  you  always  so  —  so  impetuous.^ 
K  so,  there's  a  fortune  waiting  for  you  in  the 
moving-picture  field.*' 

Yeager  did  not  object  to  having  so  attractive 
a  young  woman  as  this  one  poke  fun  at  him.  He 
grinned  joyfully. 

8 


Steve  Yeager 

•*Me!  I'm  open  to  an  engagement,  ma'am.'* 

The  short  fat  man  whom  Maisie  Winters  had 
called  Billie  looked  sharply  at  the  cowpuncher 
out  of  shrewd  gray  eyes. 

"Where  you  been  working?"  he  demanded 
abruptly. 

"  With  the  Lone  Star  outfit." 

"Get  fired?" 

"Company  gone  out  of  business  —  country 
getting  too  popular,  what  with  homesteaders, 
forest  rangers,  and  Mary's  little  lamb,"  explained 
Steve. 

"Hm!  Can  you  ride  a  bucker?'* 

"I  can  pull  leather  and  kinder  stick  on." 

"  I  '11  try  you  out  for  a  week  at  two-fifty  a  day 
if  you  like." 

"You've  hired  Steve  Yeager,"  promptly  an- 
nounced the  owner  of  that  name. 


CHAPTER  II 


"enough's  a-plenty" 


While  driving  his  car  back  to  Los  Robles, 
Billie  Threewit,  producing  director  at  the  border 
studio  of  the  Lunar  Film  Manufacturers,  in- 
dulged in  caustic  comment  on  his  own  idiocy. 

"  Now,  what  in  hell  did  I  take  on  this  Yeager 
rube  for?  He  had  just  finished  crabbing  one 
scene.  Was  n't  that  enough  without  me  paying 
him  good  money  to  spoil  more.?  Harrison's  sore 
on  him  too.  There's  going  to  be  trouble  there. 
He  ain't  going  to  stand  for  that  roughhouse  stuff 
a  Httle  bit." 

Frank  Farrar,  the  camera  man,  took  a  more 
cheerful  view  of  the  situation. 

"He's  a  find,  if  you  ask  me  —  the  real  thing 
in  cowpunchers.  And  I  don't  know  as  this  out- 
fit has  to  be  run  to  please  Harrison.  The  big 
bully  has  got  us  all  stepping  sideways  and  tip- 
toeing so  as  not  to  offend  him.  I'm  about  fed 
up  with  the  brute.  Wish  this  rube  would  mop 
the  earth  up  with  him  when  Harrison  gets  gay." 

"No  chance.  Harrison's  a  bully  all  right,  but 
he's  one  grand  little  fighter  too.  You  saw  him 
clean  up  that  bunch  of  greasers.  He's  there  with 

10 


Steve  Yeager 

both  feet  on  the  Marquis  of  Q.  business,  and 
don't  you  forget  it.  I  put  up  with  more  from  him 
than  I  ever  did  from  a  dozen  other  actors  be- 
cause he's  so  mean  when  he's  sulky." 

"Here  too,"  agreed  Farrar.  "It's  take  your 
hat  oflf  when  you  speak  to  Mr.  Chad  HarrisoUo 
I  can't  yell  at  him  that  he's  getting  out  of  the 
picture;  I've  got  to  pull  the  Alphonse  line  of 
talk.  —  *  Mr.  Harrison,  if  you  'd  be  so  kind  as  to 
get  that  left  hind  hoof  of  yours  six  inches  more 
to  the  right.'   He  makes  me  good  and  weary." 

'*He  gets  his  stuff  across  good.  Wasn't  for 
that  I  would  n't  stand  for  him  a  minute.  But 
we're  down  here,  son,  to  get  this  three-reel 
Mexican  war  dope.  As  long  as  Harrison  delivers 
the  goods  we'll  have  to  put  up  with  him." 

"Well,  I'm  going  to  give  this  Yeager  lad  a 
tip  what  he's  up  against.  Then  if  he  wants  to 
he  can  light  out  before  Harrison  gets  to  him." 

Farrar  was  as  good  as  his  word.  As  soon  as  he 
reached  the  hotel  he  dropped  around  to  the  room 
where  the  new  extra  was  staying.  His  knock 
brought  no  answer,  but  as  the  door  was  ajar  the 
camera  man  stepped  across  the  threshold. 

Steve  lay  on  the  bed  asleep,  his  lithe,  compact 
figure  stretched  at  negligent  ease.  The  flannel 
shirt  was  open  at  the  throat,  the  strong  muscles 
of  which  sloped  beautifully  into  the  splendid 
shoulders.   There  was  strength  in  the  clean-cut 

11 


Steve  Yeager 

jaw  of  the  brown  face.  It  was  an  easy  guess  that 
he  had  wandered  by  paths  crooked  as  well  as 
straight,  that  he  had  taken  the  loose  pleasures  of 
his  kind  joyously.  But  when  he  had  followed 
forbidden  trails  it  had  been  from  the  sheer 
youthful  exuberance  of  life  in  him  and  not  from 
weakness.  Farrar  judged  that  the  heart  of  the 
young  vagabond  was  sound,  that  the  desert 
winds  and  suns  had  kept  his  head  washed  clean 
of  shameful  thoughts. 

The  cowpuncher  opened  his  eyes.  He  looked 
at  his  visitor  without  speaking. 

"  Did  n't  expect  to  find  you  asleep,''  apolo- 
gized the  camera  man. 

Yeager  got  up  and  stretched  his  supple  body 
in  a  yawn.  "That's  all  right.  Just  making  up 
the  sleep  I  lost  last  night  on  the  road.  No  mat- 
ter a-tall." 

He  was  in  blue  overalls,  the  worn  shiny  chaps 
tossed  across  the  back  of  a  chair.  On  the  table 
lay  the  dusty,  pinched-in  hat,  through  the  dis-. 
reputable  crown  of  which  Farrar  had  lately  seen 
a  lock  of  his  brindle  hair  rising  like  an  aigrette. 

**Glad  to  have  you  join  us.  We  need  riders 
like  you.  Say,  it  was  worth  five  dollars  to  me  to 
see  the  way  you  laid  out  Harrison." 

The  cowpuncher's  boyish  face  clouded. 

"  I  'm  right  sorry  about  that.  It  ce'tainly  was  a 
fool  play,  I  don't  blame  Harrison  for  getting  sore." 

I^ 


Steve  Yeager 

'*He's  sore  all  right.  That's  what  I  came  to 
see  you  about.  He's  a  rowdy,  Harrison  is.  And 
he'll  make  you  trouble." 

"Most  generally  I  don't  pack  a  gun,"  Yeager 
observed  casually. 

"It  won't  be  a  gun  play;  not  to  start  with, 
anyhow.  He  used  to  be  a  prizefighter.  He'H 
beat  you  up." 

"Well,  it  don't  hurt  a  man's  system  to  absorb 
a  licking  once  in  a  blue  moon." 

The  cowpuncher  said  it  smihngly,  with  a 
manner  of  negligent  competence  that  came  from 
an  experience  of  many  dangers  faced,  of  many 
perilous  ways  safely  trodden. 

Farrar  had  not  yet  quite  discharged  his  mind. 
"There's  nothing  to  prevent  you  from  shpping 
round  to  the  stable  and  pulling  your  freight 
quietly." 

"Except  that  I  don't  want  to,"  added  the  new 
extra.  "No,  sir.  I 've  got  a  job  and  I 'm  staying 
with  it.  I'll  sit  here  like  a  homed  toad  till  the 
boss  gives  me  my  time." 

The  camera  man  beamed.  To  meet  so  debon- 
air and  care-free  a  specimen  of  humanity  warmed 
the  cockles  of  his  heart. 

"I'll  bet  you're  some  scrapper  yourself,"  he 
suggested. 

"Oh,  no.  He'll  lick  me,  I  reckon.  Say,  what 
do  they  hold  you  up  for  at  this  hacienda?  " 

18 


Steve  Yeager 

The  lank  camera  man  supplied  informatioH, 
adding  that  he  knew  of  a  good  cheap  boarding- 
place  where  one  or  two  of  the  company  put  up. 

"  If  you  say  so,  I  '11  take  you  right  round  there.'* 

Yeager  reached  promptly  for  his  hat.  "You 
talk  like  a  dollar's  worth  of  nickels  rattling  out 
of  a  slot  machine  —  right  straight  to  the  point." 

They  walked  together  down  the  white,  dusty 
street,  crossed  the  outskirts  of  the  old  Mexican 
adobe  town,  and  came  to  a  suburb  of  bungalows. 
In  front  of  one  of  these  Farrar  stopped.  He  un- 
latched the  gate. 

"Here  we  are.'* 

There  was  an  old-fashioned  garden  of  roses 
and  mignonettes  and  hollyhocks,  with  crimson 
ramblers  rioting  over  the  wire  trellis  in  front  of 
the  broad  porch.  A  girl  with  soft,  thick,  blue- 
black  hair  was  bending  over  a  rosebush.  She 
was  snipping  dead  shoots  with  a  pair  of  scissors. 
At  the  sound  of  their  feet  crunching  the  gravel 
of  the  walk,  her  slender  figure  straightened  and 
she  turned  to  them.  The  ripe  lips  parted  above 
pearly  teeth  in  a  smile  of  welcome  to  the  camera 
man. 

"I've  come  begging  again.  Miss  Ruth,"  ex- 
plained Farrar.  "This  is  Mr.  Yeager,  a  new  mem- 
ber of  our  company.  He  wants  to  find  a  good 
boarding-place,  so  of  course  I  thought  of  your 
mother.   Don't  tell  me  that  you  can't  take  him.'^ 

14 


Steve  Yeager 

A  little  frown  of  doubt  furrowed  her  forehead. 
"I  don't  know,  Mr.  Farrar.  Our  tables  are  about 
full.  I'U  ask  mother." 

The  eyes  of  the  girl  rested  for  an  instant  on 
the  brown-faced  youth  whose  application  the 
camera  man  was  backing.  He  had  taken  off  his 
hat,  and  the  sun-pour  was  on  his  tawny  hair, 
on  the  lean,  bronzed  face  and  broad,  muscular 
shoulders.  In  his  torn,  discolored  hat,  his 
stained  and  travel-worn  clothes,  he  looked  a 
very  prince  of  tramps.  But  in  his  quiet,  steady 
gaze  was  the  dynamic  spark  of  self-respect  that 
forebade  her  to  judge  him  by  his  garb. 

A  faint  flush  burned  in  the  dusky  cheeks  to 
which  the  long  lashes  drooped  because  of  a 
touch  of  embarrassment.  He  had  seemed  to  read 
her  hesitation  with  an  inner  amusement  that 
found  expression  in  his  gray- blue  eyes. 

"Tell  her  I'll  be  much  obHged  if  she'll  take 
me,"  Yeager  said  in  his  gentle  drawl. 

Considering  his  request,  she  stripped  the 
gauntlet  without  purpose  from  one  of  her  little 
brown  hands.  A  solitaire  sparkled  on  the  third 
finger.  Again  she  murmured,  "I'll  ask  mother"; 
then  turned  and  flashed  up  the  steps,  her  slender 
iimbs  carrying  with  fluent  grace  the  pliant  young 
body. 

Presently  appeared  on  the  porch  a  plump, 
matronly  woman  of  a  wholesome  cleanness  with- 

15 


Steve  Yeager 

out  and  witkui.  Judging  by  fugitive  dabs  of 
flour  which  decorated  her  temple  and  her  fore- 
head, she  had  been  making  bread  or  pies  at  the 
time  she  had  been  called  by  her  daughter.  Much 
of  her  life  she  had  lived  in  the  Southwest,  and 
one  glance  at  Yeager  was  enough  to  satisfy  hen 
Through  the  dust  and  tarnished  clothes  of  him 
youth  shone  resplendent.  The  sun  was  still  m 
his  brindle  hair,  in  his  gay  eyes.  She  had  a  boy 
ef  her  own,  and  the  heart  of  her  warmed  to  him. 

In  five  sentences  they  had  come  to  an  arrajige- 
ment.  The  barn  behind  the  house  had  been  re- 
modeled so  that  it  contained  several  bedrooms. 
Into  one  of  these  Yeager  was  to  move  his  scant 
effects  at  once. 

He  and  Farrar  walked  back  to  the  hotel  to- 
gether. Harrison  was  waiting  for  them  on  the 
porch.  As  soon  as  he  caught  sight  of  the  cow- 
puncher  he  strode  forward.  The  straight  line  of 
his  set  mouth  looked  Hke  a  gash  in  a  melon. 

"  Will  you  have  it  here  or  back  of  the  garage?  '* 
he  denxanded,  getting  straight  to  business. 

"Any  place  that  suits  you,"  agreed  Steve 
affably.  "Won't  the  bulls  pinch  us  if  we  do  a 
rough-house  here?'* 

Harrison  turned  with  triumphant  malioe  to 
Farrar. 

"Get  your  camera.  You  say  you  don't  like 
phony  stuff.   Good  enough.  I'll  pull  off  the  real 

16 


Steve  Yeager 

goods  for  you  in  licking  a  rube.  There's  plenty 
of  room  back  of  the  garage/* 

The  camera  man  protested.  "See  here,  Har- 
rison. Yeager  ain't  looking  for  trouble.  He  told 
you  he  was  sorry.  It  was  an  accident.  What's 
the  use  of  bearing  a  grudge.?" 

The  heavy  glared  at  him.  "You  in  this,  Mr. 
Farrar?  You're  Uable  to  have  a  heluvatime  if 
you  butt  into  my  business  without  an  invite. 
Shack  —  and  git  that  camera." 

Yeager  nodded  to  his  new  friend.  "Go  ahead 
and  get  it.  We  '11  be  waiting  back  of  the  garage.'* 

Farrar  hesitated,  the  professional  instinct  in 
him  awake  and  active. 

"If  you're  dead  keen  on  a  mix-up,  Harrison, 
why  not  come  over  to  the  studio  where  I  can 
get  the  best  hght?  We'U  make  an  indoor  set  of 
it." 

"Go  you,"  promptly  agreed  Harrison.  His 
vanity  craved  a  picture  of  him  thrashing  the 
extra,  a  good  one  that  the  public  could  see  and 
that  he  could  afterwards  gloat  over  himself. 

Yeager  laughed  in  his  slow  way.  "I'm  to  be 
massarKTced  to  make  a  Roman  hohday,  am  I? 
All  right.  Might  as  well  begin  earning  that  two- 
fifty  per  I've  been  promised." 

The  news  spread,  as  if  on  the  wings  of  the 
wind.  Before  Farrar  had  a  stage  arranged  to 
suit  him  and  his  camera  ready,  a  dozai  mem.bers 

17 


Steve  Yeager 

of  the  company  drifted  in  with  a  casual  manner 
of  having  arrived  accidentally.  Fleming  Lennox, 
leading  man,  appeared  with  Cliff  Manderson, 
chief  comedian  for  the  Lunar  border  company. 
Baldy  Cummings,  the  property  man,  strolled 
leisurely  in  to  look  over  some  costumes.  But 
Steve  observed  that  he  was  panting  rapidly. 

As  he  sat  on  a  soap  box  waiting  for  Farrar  to 
finish  his  preparations,  Yeager  became  aware 
that  Lennox  was  watching  him  closely.  He  did 
not  know  that  the  leading  man  would  cheer- 
fully have  sacrificed  a  week's  salary  to  see  Harri- 
son get  the  trimming  he  needed.  The  handsome 
young  film  actor  was  an  athlete,  a  trained  boxer, 
but  the  ex-prizefighter  had  given  him  the  thrash- 
ing of  his  life  two  months  before.  He  simply  had 
lacked  the  physical  stamina  to  weather  the  blows 
that  came  from  those  long,  gorilla-like  arms  with 
the  weight  of  the  heavy,  rounded  shoulders  back 
of  them.   The  fight  had  not  lasted  five  minutes. 

'* Shapes  well,"  murmured  Manderson,  nod- 
ding toward  the  new  extra. 

The  leading  man  agreed  without  much  hope. 
He  conceded  the  boyish  cowpuncher  a  beautiful 
trim  figure,  with  breadth  of  shoulder,  grace  of 
poise,  and  long,  flowing  muscles  that  rippled 
under  the  healthy  skin  like  those  of  a  panther 
in  motion.  But  these  would  serve  him  little  un- 
less he  was  an  experienced  boxer.   Harrison  had 

18 


Steve  Yeager 

tremendous  strength  and  power;  moreover,  he 
knew  the  game  from  years  of  battle  in  the  ring. 

"He  '11  lose  —  won't  be  able  to  stand  the  gaff," 
Lennox  replied  gloomily,  his  eyes  fixed  on  Yeager 
as  the  young  fellow  rose  lightly  and  moved  for- 
ward to  meet  his  opponent. 

The  extra  was  as  tall  as  Harrison,  but  he 
looked  like  a  boy  beside  him,  so  large  and  mas- 
sive did  the  heavy  bulk.  The  contrast  between 
them  was  so  great  that  Yeager  was  scarcely 
conceded  a  fighting  chance.  Steve  himself  knew 
quite  well  that  he  was  in  for  a  licking  at  the 
hands  of  this  wall-eyed  Hercules  with  the  lea- 
thery brown  face. 

He  got  it,  efficiently  and  scientifically,  but 
not  before  Harrison  had  found  out  he  was  in  a 
fight.  The  big  man  disdained  any  defense  ex- 
cept that  which  went  naturally  with  his  crouch. 
He  had  a  tremendously  long  reach  and  knew 
how  to  get  the  weight  of  his  shoulders  behind 
his  punishing  blows.  Usually  Harrison  did  all 
the  fighting.  The  other  man  was  at  the  receiv- 
ing end. 

It  was  a  little  different  this  time.  Yeager  met 
his  first  rush  with  a  straight  left  that  got  home 
and  jarred  the  prizefighter  to  his  heels.  To  see 
the  look  on  the  face  of  the  heavy,  compound  of 
blank  astonishment  and  chagrin,  was  worth  the 
price  of  admission. 

19 


Steve  Yeager 

Lennox  sang  out  encouragement.  "Good  boy. 
Go  to  him." 

Harrison  put  his  head  down  and  rushed.  EGs 
arms  worked  like  flails.  They  beat  upon  Steve's 
body  and  face  as  a  hammer  does  upon  an  anvil. 
Only  by  his  catlike  agility  and  the  toughness 
bom  of  many  clean  years  in  the  saddle  did  the 
cowpuncher  weather  for  the  time  the  hurricane 
that  lashed  at  him.  He  dodged  and  ducked  and 
parried  by  instinct,  smothering  what  blows  he 
could,  evading  those  he  might,  absorbiag  the 
ones  he  must.  Out  of  that  first  m^lee  he  came 
reeling  and  dizzy,  quartering  round  and  round 
before  the  pantiag  professional. 

The  bully  enraged  was  not  a  sight  pleasant 
to  see.  He  was  too  near  akin  to  the  primeval 
brute.  He  glared  savagely  at  his  victim,  who 
grinned  back  at  him  with  an  indomitable  jaunti- 
ness. 

"This  is  the  life,"  the  cowpuncher  assured  his 
foe  cheerfully  after  dodging  a  blow  that  was  like 
the  kick  of  a  mule. 

Harrison  rocked  him  with  a  short  stiff  upper- 
cut,  "Glad  you  like  it,"  he  jeered. 

Yeager  crossed  with  his  right,  catching  him 
flush  on  the  cheek.  "Here's  your  receipt  for  the 
same,"  he  beamed. 

Like  a  wild  bull  the  prizefighter  was  at  him 
again.   He  beat  down  the  cowpuncher's  defense 

SO 


Steve  Yeager 

and  mauled  him  savagely  with  all  the  pmiiahin^ 
skill  of  his  craft,  Steve  was  a  man  of  his  hands. 
He  had  held  his  own  in  many  a  rough-and-tmnble 
bout.  But  he  had  no  science  except  that  which 
nature  had  given  him.  As  long  as  a  man  could, 
he  stood  up  to  Harrison's  trained  skill.  When 
at  last  he  was  battered  to  the  groimd  it  was  be- 
cause the  strength  had  all  oozed  out  of  him. 

Harrison  stood  over  him,  swaggering.  "Had 
enough?" 

Where  he  had  been  flung,  against  one  of  the 
studio  walls,  Steve  sat  dizzily,  his  head  reeling. 
He  saw  things  through  a  mist  in  a  queer  jerky 
way.  But  still  a  smile  beamed  on  his  disfigured 
face. 

"Surest  thing  you  know." 

"Don't  want  some  more  of  the  same?"  jeered 
the  victor. 

"Did  n't  hear  me  ask  for  more,  did  you?  No, 
an'  you  won't  either.  Me,  I  love  a  scrap,  but  I 
don't  yearn  for  no  encore  after  I  've  been  clawed 
by  a  panther  and  chewed  up  by  a  threshing- 
machine  and  kicked  by  an  able-bodied  mule  into 
the  middle  o'  next  week.  Enough 's  a-plenty,  as 
old  Jim  Butts  said  when  his  second  wife  died." 

The  prizefighter  looked  vindictively  down  at 
him.  He  was  not  satisfied,  though  he  had  given 
the  range-rider  such  a  whaling  as  few  men  could 
stand  up  and  take.  For  the  conviction  was  sifting 

£1 


Steve  Yeager 

home  to  him  that  he  had  not  beaten  the  man  at 
all.  His  pile-driver  blows  had  hammered  down 
his  body,  but  the  spirit  of  him  shone  damitless 
out  of  the  gay,  unconquerable  eyes. 

With  a  sullen  oath  Harrison  turned  away.  His 
sulky  glance  fell  upon  Lennox,  who  was  clapping 
his  hands  softly. 

"You'd  be  one  grand  little  fighter,  Yeager,  tf 
you  only  knew  how,"  the  leading  man  said  with 
enthusiasm. 

"Mebbe  you'd  like  to  teach  him,  Mr.  Len- 
nox," sneered  Harrison. 

The  star  flushed.  "Maybe  I  would,  Mr.  Harri- 


son. 


"Or  perhaps  you'd  rather  show  him  how  it's 
done." 

Lennox  looked  straight  at  him.  "Nothing 
doing.  And  I  serve  notice  right  here  that  I'll 
have  no  more  trouble  with  you.  If  it's  got  to 
come  to  that  either  you  or  I  will  quit  the  com- 
pany." 

The  bully's  eyes  narrowed.  "Which  one  of 
us?" 

"It'll  be  up  to  Threewit  to  pass  on  that." 

Harrison  put  on  his  coat  and  slouched  sulkily 
out  of  the  building.  He  knew  quite  well  that 
if  it  came  to  a  choice  between  him  and  Lennox 
the  director  would  sacrifice  him  without  a  mo- 
ment's consideration. 


Steve  Yeager 

Farrar,  who  had  been  grinding  out  pictures 
since  the  beginning  of  hostiHties,  came  forward 
to  greet  Yeager  with  a  Uttle  whoop  of  joy. 

**Say,  you  sure  go  some.  Cactus  Center.  I 
never  did  see  a  fellow  eat  up  such  a  licking  and 
come  up  smiling.  You're  certainly  one  Mellin's 
Food  baby.  I'm  for  you  —  strong." 

One  of  Steve's  eyes  was  closing  rapidly,  but 
the  other  had  not  lost  its  twinkle. 

**Does  a  fellow's  system  good  to  assimilate  a 
tanning  oncet  in  a  while  —  sort  o'  corrects  any 
mistaken  notions  he's  liable  to  collect.  Gentle- 
men, hush!  Ain't  Harrison  the  boss  eat-'em- 
alive  white  hope  that  ever  turkey-trotted  down 
the  pike.?" 

The  melancholy  Manderson  smiled.  "You 
make  a  hit  with  me,  Arizona.  If  I  were  in  your 
place  I'd  be  waiting  for  the  undertaker.  You 
look  like  you'd  out  come  of  a  railroad  wreck, 
two  fires,  and  a  cattle  stampede  over  your  car- 
cass. Here,  boys,  hustle  along  first  aid  to  our 
friend  the  punching-bag." 

They  got  him  water  and  towels  and  a  sponge. 
Steve,  protesting  humorously,  submitted  to 
their  ministrations.  He  was  grateful  for  the 
friendliness  that  prompted  their  kindness.  The 
atmosphere  had  subtly  changed.  During  the 
afternoon  he  had  sensed  a  little  aloofness,  an 
intention  on  the  part  of  the  company  members 


Steve  Yeager 

to  stand  oflf  until  they  knew  him  better.  Now 
the  ice  was  melted.  They  had  taken  him  into 
the  family.  He  had  passed  with  honors  his  pre- 
liminary examination. 


CHAPTER  ni 

CHAD   HARRISOlf 

As  soon  as  Steve  stepped  into  the  dining-roonx 
he  knew  that  the  story  of  his  fight  with  Harrison 
had  preceded  him.  His  battered  face  became  an 
immediate  focus  of  curious  veiled  glances.  These 
exhibited  an  animated  interest  rather  than  sur- 
prise. 

Mrs.  Seymour  introduced  him  in  turn  to  ead 
of  the  other  boarders,  and  the  furtive  looks  stared 
for  a  moment  their  frank  questions  at  him.  As 
he  drew  in  his  chair  beside  a  slender,  tanned 
young  woman,  he  knew  with  some  amusement 
that  his  arrival  had  interrupted  a  conversation 
of  which  he  had  been  the  theme. 

The  film  actress  seated  beside  Yeager  must 
have  been  in  her  very  early  twenties,  but  her 
pretty  face,  finely  modeled,  had  the  provocative 
effrontery  that  is  the  note  of  twentieth-century 
young  womanhood.  Its  audacity,  which  was  the 
quintessence  of  worldUness,  held  an  alert  been- 
through-it-all  expression. 

*'I  hope  you  like  Los  Robles,  Mr.  Yeager. 
Some  of  us  don't,  you  know,"  she  suggested. 

**Like  it  fine,  Mkw  ElUngiOB,"  he  amcwered 

d5 


Steve  Yeager 

with  enthusiasm,  accepting  from  Ruth  Seymour 
a  platter  of  veal  croquettes. 

Daisy  Ellington  slanted  mischievous  eyes  to- 
ward him.  '*Not  much  doing  here.  It's  a  dead 
little  hole.  You'll  be  bored  to  death  —  if  you 
have  n't  been  already." 

"Me!  I've  found  it  right  lively,"  retorted 
Steve,  his  eyes  twinkling.  "Had  all  the  ex- 
citement I  could  stand  for  one  day.  You  see 
I  come  from  way  back  in  the  cow  country, 
ma'am." 

"And  I  came  from  New  York,"  she  sighed. 
"When  it  comes  to  little  old  Broadway  I'm 
there  with  bells  on.  What  d'you  mean,  cow 
country?  Ain't  this  far  enough  off  the  map.^^ 
Say,  were  you  ever  in  New  York.^^" 

"Oncet.  With  a  load  of  steers  my  boss  was 
shipping  to  England.  Lemme  see.  It  was  three 
years  ago  come  next  October." 

"Three  years  ago.  Why,  that  was  when  I  was 
in  the  pony  ballet  with  'Adam,  Eve,  and  the 
Apple.'  Did  you  see  the  show. f^" 

"Bet  I  did." 

Her  eyes  sparkled.  "I  was  in  the  first  row, 
third  from  the  left  in  the  'Good-Night'  chorus. 
Some  kick  to  that  song,  was  n't  there.^^" 

"I  should  say  yes.  We're  old  friends,  then, 
aren't  we?"  exclaimed  Yeager  promptly.  He 
buried  her  little  hand  in  his  big  brown  paw,  a 

26 


Steve  Yeager 

friendly  smile  beaming  through  the  disfigure- 
ments of  his  bruised  face. 

"He  did  n't  do  a  thing  to  you,  did  he?"  she 
commented,  looking  him  over  frankly. 

"Not  a  thing  —  except  run  me  through  a 
sausage-grinder,  drop  me  out  of  one  of  these 
aeroplanes,  hammer  my  haid  with  a  pile-driver, 
and  jounce  me  up  and  down  on  a  big  pile  of  sharp 
rocks.  Outside  of  trifles  like  that  I  had  it  all  my 
own  way." 

"I  don't  see  any  alfalfa  in  your  hair,"  she 
laughed.  Then,  lowering  her  voice  discreetly, 
she  added:  "Harrison's  a  brute.  I'll  tell  you 
about  him  some  time  when  Ruth  is  n't  round." 

"Ruth!"  Steve  glanced  at  the  young  girl 
who  moved  about  the  room  with  such  rhythmic 
grace  helping  the  Chinese  waiter  serve  her  moth- 
er's guests.  "What  has  she  got  to  do  with  Har- 
rison? 

"Engaged  to  him  —  that 's  all.  See  that  spark- 
ler on  her  finger?  Wouldn  't  it  give  you  a  jolt 
that  a  nice  little  girl  like  her  would  take  up  with 
a  stiff  like  Harrison?" 

"What's  her  mother  thinking  about?"  asked 
the  cowpuncher  under  cover  of  the  conversation 
that  was  humming  briskly  all  around  the  tables. 

Daisy  lifted  her  shoulders  in  a  careless  httle 
shrug.  "Oh,  her  mother!  What's  she  got  to  do 
with  it?    Harrison  has  hypnotized  the  kid,  I 

£7 


Steve  Yeager 

guess.  He  throws  a  big  chest,  and  at  that  he 
ain't  bad-looking.  He's  one  man  too,  if  he  is  a 
rotten  bad  lot." 

The  young  woman  breezed  on  to  another  sub- 
ject in  the  light,  inconsequent  fashion  she  had, 
and  presently  deserted  Yeager  to  meet  the  badi- 
nage of  an  extra  sitting  at  an  adjoining  table. 

After  dinner  Steve  went  to  his  new  quarters 
to  get  a  cigar  he  had  left  on  the  table.  It  was  one 
Farrar  had  given  him.  He  was  cherishing  it 
because  his  financial  assets  had  become  reduced 
to  twenty  cents  and  he  did  not  happen  to  know 
when  pay-day  was. 

Yeager  climbed  the  barn  stairs  humming  a 
range  song:  — 

"  Black  Jack  Davy  came  a-riding  along. 
Singing  a  song  so  gayly, 

He  laughed  and  sang  till  the  merry  woods  rang 
And  he  charmed  the  heart  of  a  lady, 
And  he  charmed  —  " 

Abruptly  he  pulled  up  in  his  stride  and  in  his 
song.  Ruth  Seymour  was  in  the  room  putting 
new  sheets  and  pillow-cases  on  the  bed. 

"I  have  n't  had  time  before.  I  did  n't  think 
you  would  be  through  dinner  so  soon,"  she  ex- 
plained in  a  voice  soft  and  low. 

"That's  all  right.  I  only  dropped  up  to  get 
a  cigar  I  left  on  the  table.  Don't  let  me  disturb 
you." 


Steve  Yeager 

Her  troubled  eyes  rested  on  the  strong,  lean 
face  that  went  so  well  with  the  strong,  lean  body. 
One  eye  was  swollen  and  almost  shut.  Red 
bruises  glistened  on  the  forehead  and  the  cheeks. 
A  bit  of  plaster  stretched  diagonally  above  the 
right  cheekbone  where  the  prizefighter's  knuck- 
les had  cut  a  deep  gash.  Little  ridges  covered 
his  countenance  as  if  it  had  been  a  contour  map 
of  a  mountainous  country.  But  through  all  the 
havoc  that  had  been  wrought  flashed  his  white 
teeth  in  a  cheerful  smile. 

The  girl's  lip  trembled.  "I'm  sorry  you — • 
were  hurt." 

He  flashed  a  quick  look  at  her.  "Sho!  Forget 
it.  Miss  Seymour.  I  was  n't  hurt  any  —  none 
to  speak  of.  It  don't  do  a  big  husky  like  me  any 
harm  to  be  handed  a  licking." 

"You  —  hit  him  first,  did  n't  you.^" 

"Yes,  ma'am, — knocked  him  out  cold  be- 
fore he  knew  where  he  was  at.  He  was  entitled 
to  a  come-back.  I  'm  noways  hos-tile  to  him  be- 
cause he's  a  better  man  than  I  am." 

She  stood  with  the  pillow  in  her  hands,  shy 
as  a  fawn,  but  with  a  certain  resolution,  too,  the 
trouble  of  her  soul  still  reflected  on  the  sweet 
face. 

"Why  do  men  —  do  such  things.'^"  she  asked 
with  a  catch  of  her  breath. 

He  scratched   his  curly  head  in  apologetic 

29 


Steve  Yeager 

perplexity.  "  Search  me.  I  reckon  the  cave  man 
is  lurking  around  in  most  of  us.  We  had  n't 
ought  to.  That's  a  fact." 

*'It  was  all  a  mistake,  Miss  Ellington  says. 
You  thought  he  was  hurting  Miss  Winters.  Why 
did  n't  you  tell  him  you  were  sorry  .^  Then  it 
would  have  been  all  right." 

The  cowpuncher  did  not  bat  an  eye  at  this 
innocent  suggestion. 

"That's  right.  Why  didn't  I  think  of  that? 
Then  of  course  he  would  have  laid  off  o'  me." 

"He  —  Mr.  Harrison  —  is  quick-tempered.  I 
suppose  all  brave  men  are.  But  he's  generous, 
too.  If  you  had  explained  — " 

"I  reckon  you're  right.  He  sure  is  generous, 
even  in  the  whalings  he  gives.  But  don't  worry 
about  me.  I'm  all  right,  and  much  obliged  for 
your  kindness  in  asking." 

Steve  found  his  cigar  and  retired.  He  carried 
with  him  in  memory  a  picture  of  a  troubled 
young  creature  with  soft,  tender  eyes  gleaming 
starlike  from  beneath  waves  of  dark  hair. 

Yeager  met  Harrison  swaggering  up  the  gravel 
walk  toward  the  house.  A  malevolent  gleam  lit 
in  the  cold  black  eyes  of  the  bully. 

"How  you  feeling,  young  fella .^" 

"A  hundred  and  eighty  years  old,"  answered 
the  cowpuncher  promptly  with  a  grin.  "Every 
time  I  open  my  mouth  my  face  cracks.    You 

SO 


Steve  Yeager 

ce'tainly  did  give  me  a  proper  trimming.  I 
don't  know  sic-'em  about  this  scientific  fight 
game." 

Harrison  scowled.  "There's  more  at  the  same 
address  any  time  you  need  it." 

"Not  if  I  see  you  coming  in  time  to  make  a 
getaway,"  retorted  Steve  with  a  laugh. 

As  the  range-rider  passed  hghtly  down  the 
walk  there  drifted  back  to  the  prizefighter  the 
words  of  a  cowboy  song:  — 

"  Oh,  bury  me  out  on  the  lone  prairee. 
In  a  narrow  grave  just  six  by  three, 
Where  the  wild  coyotes  will  howl  o'er  me — 
Oh,  bury  me  out  on  the  lone  prairee." 

Harrison  ripped  out  an  oath.  There  was  a 
note  of  gentle  irony  about  the  minor  strain  of 
the  song  that  he  resented.  He  had  given  this 
youth  the  thrashing  of  his  life,  but  he  had  ap- 
parently left  his  spirit  quite  uncrushed.  What 
he  liked  was  to  have  men  walk  in  fear  of 
him. 

The  song  presently  died  on  the  lips  of  Steve. 
Harrison  was  on  his  way  to  call  on  Ruth.  The 
man  had  somehow  won  her  promise  to  marry 
him.  It  was  impossible  for  Yeager  to  believe 
that  the  child  knew  what  she  was  doing.  To 
think  of  her  as  the  future  wife  of  Chad  Harri- 
son moved  him  to   resentment  at  life's  satiric 

81 


Steve  Yeager 

paradoxes.  To  give  this  sweet  young  innocent 
to  such  a  man  was  to  mate  a  lamb  with  a  tiger 
or  a  wolf.  The  outrage  of  it  cried  to  Heaven. 
What  could  her  mother  be  thinking  of  to  allow 
such  a  wanton  sacrifice? 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE   EXTRA 

From  the  first  Yeager  enjoyed  his  work  with 
the  Lunar  Company.  Young  and  full-blooded, 
he  liked  novelty  and  adventure,  life  in  the  open, 
new  scenes  and  faces.  As  a  film  actor  he  did  not 
have  to  seek  sensations.  They  came  to  him  im- 
sought.  He  had  the  faculty  of  projecting  him- 
self with  all  his  mind  into  the  business  of  the 
moment,  so  that  he  soon  knew  what  it  was  to  be 
a  noble  and  self-conscious  hero  as  well  as  an  un- 
mitigated villain. 

One  day  he  was  a  miner  making  his  last  stand 
against  a  band  of  Mexican  banditti,  the  next 
he  was  crawling  through  the  mesquite  to  strike 
down  an  intrepid  ranger  who  laughed  at  death. 
He  fought  desperate  single  combats,  leaped  from 
cliffs  into  space  or  across  bridgeless  chasms,  took 
part  in  dozens  of  sets  illustrating  scenes  of  fron- 
tier life  as  Billy  Threewit  conceived  these.  Some- 
times Steve  smiled.  The  director's  ideas  had 
largely  been  absorbed  in  New  York  from  reading 
Western  fiction.  But  so  long  as  he  drew  down 
his  two-fifty  a  day  and  had  plenty  of  fun  doing 
't,  Steve  was  no  stickler  for  naked  realism.  The 


Steve  Yeager 

"bad  men"  of  Yeager's  acquaintance  had  usu- 
ally been  quiet,  soft-spoken  citizens,  notable 
chiefly  for  a  certain  chilliness  of  the  eye  and  an 
efficient  economy  of  expression  that  eliminated 
waste.  Those  that  Three  wit  featured  were  of  a 
different  type.  They  strutted  and  bragged  and 
made  gun  plays  on  every  possible  occasion. 

Perhaps  this  was  why  Harrison's  stuff  got 
across.  By  nature  a  swaggering  bully,  he  had 
only  to  turn  loose  his  real  impulses  to  register 
'what  the  director  wanted  of  a  bad  man.  In  the 
lx)Ugh-and-tumble  life  he  had  led,  it  had  been 
Yeager's  business  to  know  men.  He  made  no 
mistake  about  Harrison.  The  fellow  might  be  a 
loud-mouthed  braggart;  none  the  less  he  would 
go  the  limit.  The  man  was  game. 

Lennox  met  Steve  one  day  as  the  latter  was 
returning  from  the  property  room  with  a  saddle 
Threewit  had  asked  him  to  adjust.  The  star 
stopped  him  good-naturedly. 

"  Care  to  put  the  gloves  on  with  me  some  time, 
Yeager.?" 

The  cowpuncher's  face  brightened.  "I  sure 
would.  The  boys  say  you're  the  best  ever  with 
the  mitts." 

"I'm  a  pretty  good  boxer,  but  I  don't  trail 
in  your  class  as  a  fighter.  What  you  need  is  to 
take  some  lessons.  If  you'd  care  to  have  me 
show  you  what  I  know  — " 

34 


Steve  Yeager 

"Say,  you've  rung  the  bell  first  shot/* 

"Come  up  to  the  hotel  to-night,  then.  No 
need  advertising  it.  Harrison  might  pick  an- 
other quarrel  with  you  to  show  you  what  you 
don't  know." 

Steve  laughed.  "He's  ce'tainly  one  tough 
citizen.  He  can  look  at  a  pine  board  so  darned 
sultry  it  begins  to  smoke.  All  right.  Be  up  there 
to-night,  Mr.  Lennox." 

From  that  day  the  boxing  lessons  became  a 
regular  thing.  The  claim  Lennox  had  made  for 
himself  had  scarcely  done  him  justice.  He  was 
one  of  the  best  amateur  boxers  in  the  West.  In 
Yeager  he  had  a  pupil  quick  to  learn.  The  extra 
was  a  perfect  specimen  physically,  narrow  of 
flank,  broad  of  shoulder,  with  the  well-packed 
muscles  of  one  always  trained  to  the  minute. 
Fifteen  years  in  the  saddle  had  given  him  a 
toughness  of  fiber  no  city  dweller  could  possibly 
equal.  Nights  under  the  multiple  stars  in  the 
hills,  cool,  invigorating  mornings  with  the  pine- 
filled  air  strong  as  wine  in  his  clean  blood,  long 
days  of  sunshine  full  of  action,  had  all  contrib- 
uted to  make  him  the  young  Hermes  that  he  was. 
Cool  and  wary,  supple  as  a  wildcat,  light  as  a 
dancing  schoolgirl  on  his  feet,  he  had  the  quali- 
ties which  go  to  help  both  the  fighter  and  the 
boxer.  Lennox  had  never  seen  a  man  with  more 
natiu-al  aptitude  for  the  sport. 

35 


Steve  Yeager 

Sometimes  Farrar  was  present  at  these  les- 
sons. Often  Baldy  Cummings,  who  Hked  the 
cowpuncher  because  Steve  was  always  willing 
to  help  him  get  the  properties  ready  for  the  re- 
quired sets,  would  put  on  the  gloves  with  him 
and  try  him  out  for  a  round  or  two.  Manderson, 
the  melancholy  comedian,  occasionally  dropped 
in  with  some  other  member  of  the  company. 

The  same  thought  was  in  the  mind  of  all  of 
them  except  Yeager  himself.  The  extra  was 
being  trained  to  meet  Harrison.  It  was  appar- 
ent to  all  of  them  that  the  prizefighter  was  nurs- 
ing a  grudge.  The  jaunty  insouciance  of  the 
young  range-rider  irritated  him  as  a  banderilla 
goads  a  bull  in  the  ring. 

'* Steve  gets  under  his  hide.  Some  day  he's 
going  to  break  loose  again,"  Farrar  told  Man- 
derson as  they  watched  Lennox  and  Yeager  box. 

"The  kid  shapes  fine.  If  Mr.  Chad  Harris<Hi 
waits  long  enough  he's  liable  to  find  himself  in 
trouble  when  he  tackles  that  young  tiger  cub/* 
answered  the  comedian.  ''Ever  see  anybody 
quicker  on  his  feet?  Reminds  me  of  Jim  Corbett 
when  he  was  a  youngster." 

The  news  of  the  boxing  lessons  traveled  to 
Harrison.  He  set  his  heavy  jaw  and  waited. 
He  intended  that  Yeager  should  go  to  the  hos- 
pital after  their  next  mix-up. 

Meanwhile  he  found  other  causes  for  disliking 

36 


Ste\'e  Yeager 

iie  new  man.  Always  a  vain  man,  his  jealousy 
wras  inflamed  because  Steve  was  a  better  rider 
than  he.  At  any  time  he  was  ready  with  a  sneer 
for  what  he  called  the  cowpuncher's  "grand- 
standing." 

"It  gets  across,  Harrison,"  Threewit  told  him 
bluntly  one  day.  "We've  never  had  a  rider 
whose  work  was  so  snappy.  He's  doing  fine.'* 

"Watch  him  blow  up  one  of  these  days  — 
nothing  to  him,"  growled  the  heavy. 

"There's  a  whole  lot  to  him,"  disagreed  the 
producing  director  as  he  walked  away  to  super- 
intend the  arrangement  of  a  set. 

Several  days  after  this  some  new  horses  were 
added  to  the  remuda  of  the  Lunar  Company. 
Harrison  picked  a  young  mustang  to  ride  in  a 
chase  scene  they  were  going  to  pull  off.  The 
pony  was  a  wiry  buckskin  with  powerful  flanks 
and  withers.  The  prizefighter  was  no  sooner  in 
the  saddle  than  it  developed  that  the  animal 
had  not  been  half  broken.  It  took  to  pitching 
at  once  and  presently  spilled  the  rider. 

Steve,  sitting  on  the  corral  fence  with  Jack- 
son and  Or  man,  two  other  riders  for  the  com- 
pany, called  across  cheerfully, — 

"Not  hurt,  are  you?" 

The  heavy  got  up  swearing.  "Any  of  your 
damned  business,  is  it?" 

He    caught    at    the    pony   bridle,   jerked    k 

37 


Steve  Yeager 

violently,  and  hammered  the  hfted  head  of  the 
dancing  mustang  with  his  fist.  After  several 
attempts  he  succeeded  in  kicking  its  ribs.  Yea- 
ger said  nothing,  but  his  eyes  gleamed.  In  the 
cow  country  men  interfere  rarely  when  a  vicious 
rider  abuses  his  mount,  but  such  a  man  soon 
finds  himself  under  an  unvoiced  ban. 

Harrison  backed  the  mustang  to  a  corner, 
swung  to  the  saddle,  and  tugged  savagely  at  the 
reins.  Two  minutes  later  he  took  the  dust  again. 
The  horse  had  spent  the  interval  in  a  choice 
variety  of  pitching  that  included  sun-fishing, 
fence-rowing,  and  pile-driving. 

To  Jackson  Steve  made  comment.  "Most 
generally  it  don't  pay  to  beat  up  a  horse.  A 
man 's  liable  to  get  piled,  and  if  he  gets  tromped 
on  folks  don't  go  into  mourning." 

Harrison  could  not  hear  the  words,  but  he 
made  a  fair  guess  at  their  meaning.  He  turned 
toward  Yeager  with  a  snarl. 

"Got  anything  to  say  out  loud,  young  fella .^** 

"  Only  that  any  horse  is  likely  to  act  that  way 
when  it  gets  its  back  up.  I  would  n't  ride  a  horse 
without  any  spirit." 

"Think  you  can  ride  this  one,  mebbe?" 

Without  speaking  Yeager  slid  down  from  the 
fence  and  approached  the  mustang.  The  animal 
backed  away,  muscles  a-tremble  and  eyes  full 
of  fear.    Steve's  movements  were  slow,  but  not 

38 


Steve  Yeager 

doubtful.  He  stroked  the  pony's  neck  and  gen- 
tled it.  His  low  voice  murmured  soft  words  into 
the  alert  ear  cocked  back  suspiciously.  Then, 
without  any  haste  or  unevenness  of  motion,  he 
swung  up  and  dropped  gently  into  the  saddle. 

For  an  instant  the  horse  stood  trembling. 
Yeager  leaned  forward  and  patted  the  neck  of 
the  colt  softly.  His  soothing  voice  still  com- 
forted and  reassured.  Gradually  its  terror  sub- 
sided. 

"Open  the  gate,"  Steve  called  to  Orman. 

He  rode  out  to  the  creosote  flats  and  cantered 
down  the  road.  A  quarter  of  an  hour  later  he 
swung  from  the  saddle  beside  ThreewiL 

"Plumb  gentle.  You  can  make  any  horse  a 
devil  when  you're  one  yourself." 

They  were  standing  in  front  of  the  stable. 
Threewit  started  to  reply,  but  the  words  were 
taken  out  of  his  mouth.  From  out  of  the  stable 
strode  Harrison,  a  cold  anger  in  his  eyes. 

"That's  your  opinion,  is  it.^^" 

Yeager's  light  blue  eyes  met  his  steadily. 
"You've  heard  it." 

"I've  heard  other  things,  too.  You're  taking 
boxing  lessons.  You're  going  to  need  them,  my 
friend." 

"The  sooner  the  quicker,"  answered  Steve 
erenly. 

"You'll  cut  that  out,  both  of  you,"  ordered 

S9 


Steve  Yeager 

Three  wit  curtly.  "I'll  fire  you  both  if  you  don't 
behave." 

"I'm  no  school-kid,  Threewit.  I  play  my 
own  hand.  Sabe.^^"  Harrison  turned  his  cold 
eyes  on  the  range-rider.  "And  I  serve  notice 
right  here  that  next  time  my  young  rube  friend 
and  me  mixes  you'd  better  bring  a  basket  to 
gather  up  the  pieces." 

Yeager  brushed  a  fly  languidly  from  his 
gauntlet.  "That's  twice  he's  used  the  word 
'friend.'  I  reckon  he  don't  know  I'm  some  par- 
ticular who  calls  me  that." 

"That'll  be  enough,  Yeager.  Don't  start 
anything  here.  We're  a  moving-picture  outfit, 
not  a  bunch  of  pugs."  Briskly  the  director 
changed  the  subject.  "I  want  you  to  choose  a 
couple  of  the  boys  and  go  down  to  Yarnell's  after 
a  herd  of  cattle  we're  going  to  need  in  that 
Tapidero  Jim  picture.  If  you  need  more  help 
the  old  man  will  let  you  have  one  or  two  of  his 
riders." 
^^igif  Harrison  had  turned  to  leave,  but  he  stopped 
to  examine  the  conchas  on  a  pair  of  leathers. 
Steve  had  a  fleeting  thought  that  the  man  was 
listening;  also  that  he  was  covering  the  fact  with 
a  manner  of  elaborate  carelessness. 

"Want  I  should  start  right  away.^" 

"Yep.  Can  you  get  back  by  to-morrow 
night?'* 

40 


Steve  Yeager 

"I  reckon.  Has  Yamell  got  'em  rounded  up?" 
asked  Yeager. 

"He  telephoned  me  this  morning  they  were 
ready." 

**Then  we'd  ought  to  reach  Los  Robles  late 
to-morrow  night  if  we  hit  the  trail  steady." 

"Good  enough.  Who  do  you  want  to  take 
with  you.^" 

"I'll  take  Shorty  and  Orman." 

The  details  were  arranged  on  the  spot.  Harri- 
son was  still  giving  his  attention  to  the  c^chas 
on  the  chaps.  They  were  made  of  'dobe  dollars. 
He  had  seen  Jackson  wear  them  fifty  times  and 
had  never  before  showed  the  least  interest  in 
them. 


m 


r^ 


i 


CHAPTER  V 

YEAGER  ASKS  ADVICE 

Though  Yeager  had  enjoyed  immensely  his 
month  with  the  Lunar  people,  he  tasted  again 
the  dust  of  the  drag-driver  with  a  keen  pleasure. 
He  had  not  yet  been  able  to  get  it  out  of  his 
mind  that  he  was  only  playing  at  work  with  the 
film  company.  When  he  heard  some  of  the  others 
complain  about  long  hours  and  dangerous  stunts 
he  wished  they  could  have  ridden  on  the  round- 
up for  the  Lone  Star  outfit  about  a  week.  Ari- 
zona had  tanned  the  complexions  of  the  actors, 
but  it  had  left  most  of  them  still  soft  of  muscle 
and  fiber.  The  flabbiness  of  Broadway  cannot 
be  washed  out  of  the  soul  in  a  month. 

But  to-day  he  felt  he  had  done  a  man's  work. 
It  had  been  like  old  times.  The  white  dust  of  the 
desert  had  enwrapped  them  in  clouds.  The  un- 
tempered  sun  had  beat  down  a  palpitating  heat 
upon  dry  sand  wastes.  The  hill  cattle  he  was 
driving  were  as  wild  as  deer.  A  dozen  times  some 
lean  steer  had  bolted  and  gone  racing  down 
a  precipitous  hillside  like  a  rabbit.  As  often 
Four  Bits  had  wheeled  in  its  tracks  and  pounded 
through  clutching  cholla  and  down  breakneck 

42 


Steve  Yeager 

inclines  after  the  escaping  three-year-old.  Fierce 
cactus  thorns  had  torn  at  the  leather  chaps  as 
horse  and  rider  had  ripped  through  them,  zig- 
zagging across  the  steep  mountain  slope  at  a 
gallop,  the  pony  now  slithering  down  the  shale 
with  braced  forelegs,  now  taking  washes  and 
inclines  with  the  surefooted  litheness  of  a  cat. 

Now  stars  by  millions  roofed  the  velvet  night. 
A  big  moon  had  climbed  out  of  a  crotch  of  the 
purple  hills  and  poured  a  silvery  light  into  a 
valley  green  and  beautiful  with  the  magic  touch 
of  spring.  A  grove  of  suhuaro  rose  like  ghostly 
candelabra  from  the  hillside  opposite.  The  mes- 
quite  carried  a  wealth  of  dainty  foliage.  Even 
the  flat-leafed  prickly  pear  blended  into  the  soft 
harmony  of  the  mellow  night. 

Los  Robles  was  still  half  a  dozen  miles  away 
and  the  cattle  were  weary  from  the  long  drive. 
For  an  hour  they  had  seemed  to  smell  water  and 
the  leaders  made  a  bee-line  for  it,  bellowing  with 
stretched  necks  as  they  hurried  forward.  It  was 
late  when  at  last  they  reached  the  waterhole. 

"Time  to  throw  ofiP.  We'll  make  camp  in  the 
cool  of  the  morning,"  Yeager  called  to  Shorty. 

They  built  a  fire  of  dead  ironwood  upon  which 
they  boiled  coffee  and  fried  bacon.  Bread  they 
had  brought  with  them.  After  eating,  they  lay 
at  ease  and  smoked. 

There  was  little  danger  of  the  tired  cattle 

43 


Steve  Yeager 

straying,  but  Yeager  divided  his  party  so  that 
they  should  take  turn  about  night-herding.  He 
took  the  first  watch  himself. 

The  stillness  of  the  desert  night  was  a  thing 
to  wonder  at.  The  silence  of  the  great  outdoors, 
of  vast  empty  space,  subdued  the  restlessness  of 
the  cattle.  Many  a  time  before  the  range-rider 
had  felt  the  fascination  of  it  creep  into  his  blood 
as  he  had  circled  the  sleeping  herd  murmuring 
softly  a  Spanish  love-song.  By  day  the  desert 
was  often  a  place  of  desolation  and  death,  but 
under  the  mystic  charm  of  night  it  was  trans- 
formed to  a  panorama  of  soft  loveliness. 

He  thought  of  many  episodes  in  his  short, 
turbid  life.  They  flashed  upon  the  screen  of  his 
memory  as  did  the  pictures  of  the  Lunar  Com- 
pany upon  the  canvas.  In  his  time  he  had 
mushed  in  Alaska,  fought  in  Mexico,  driven 
stage  at  the  Nevada  gold-fields,  and  wandered 
into  many  a  lawless  camp.  Always  he  had  an- 
swered the  call  of  adventure  regardless  of  where 
it  led. 

His  thoughts  were  fugitive,  inconsequent. 
Now  they  had  to  do  with  Daisy  Ellington,  the 
New  York  chorus  girl  whose  mobile,  piquant 
face  was  helping  to  make  the  Lunar  reels  popu- 
lar. Steve  was  engaged  in  a  whirlwind  flirtation 
with  her  which  both  of  them  were  enjoying  ex- 
tremely. He  liked  her  slangy  audacity,  the  frank 

44 


Steve  Yeager 

good-fellowship  with  which  she  had  met  him. 
Daisy  was  a  good  sport.  She  might  pretend  to 
sigh  for  the  lights  of  Manhattan,  but  she  was 
having  a  tremendously  good  time  in  Arizona. 

"Reach  for  the  roof,  friend.  No,  I  would  n't 
rock  the  boat  if  I  was  you.  Sit  steady  and  don't 
move." 

The  words  came  to  Yeager  low  but  imperative. 
Automatically  his  hands  went  into  the  air  even 
as  he  slewed  his  head  to  find  out  who  was  voicing 
the  curt  command.  A  rope  dropped  over  his 
arms  and  was  jerked  tight  just  below  the  knees. 
Very  cautiously  a  man  emerged  from  behind  a 
clump  of  choUa.  The  first  thing  he  did  was  to 
remove  the  automatic  revolver  from  the  cow- 
puncher's  chaps,  the  second  to  wiad  the  rope 
tightly  around  his  legs. 

Steve  made  no  comment,  asked  no  questions. 
He  knew  that  he  would  find  out  all  about 
it  in  time.  Just  now  he  was  not  running  the 
show. 

"I  expect  your  arms  must  be  tired  grabbin' 
at  the  stars.  Drop  'em  down  clost  to  your  sides. 
That 's  fine.  Lucky  you  did  n't  start  anything 
coarse,  my  friend." 

The  man  gave  a  low  whistle,  evidently  a  sig- 
nal, then  moved  for  the  first  time  within  range 
of  his  prisoner's  eyes.  He  was  masked  and  wore 
a  soft  black  hat  pulled  well  down  over  his  fore- 

45 


Steve  Yeager 

liead.  A  Mexican  serape  had  been  flung  care- 
lessly across  his  well-built  shoulders. 

Adroitly  he  bound  Yeager's  arms  to  his  side 
by  winding  the  rope  round  and  round  his  body, 
after  which  he  knotted  it  tightly  several  times 
at  a  point  just  between  the  shoulder  blades. 

The  range-rider  observed  that  he  was  a  heavy- 
set,  powerful  man  of  about  his  own  height.  He 
wore  plain  shiny  leather  chaps  and  the  usual 
high-heeled  boots  of  a  cowpuncher. 

Presently  three  other  men  appeared  out  of  the 
darkness,  bringing  with  them  Orman  and  Shorty, 
both  of  whom,  wakened  out  of  a  sound  sleep, 
were  plainly  surprised  and  disturbed. 

Shorty  was  protesting  plaintively.  "This  here 
ain't  no  way  to  treat  a  man.  I  ain't  done  nothin'. 
There  ain't  no  occasion  whatever  for  a  gun  play. 
What  d '  you  want,  anyhow?  I  'm  no  bad  hombre. 
And  me  sleepin'  so  peaceable,  too,  when  you 
shoved  the  hardware  into  my  pantry,  doggone 
it." 

The  three  men  in  charge  of  Yeager's  assis- 
tants were  also  masked.  One  of  them  in  partic- 
ular drew  Steve's  eyes.  He  w;as  a  slight,  short 
person  with  the  walk  and  bearing  of  a  youth. 
He  wore  for  a  mask  a  red  bandanna  handker- 
chief with  figures,  into  which  holes  had  been  cut 
for  the  eyes.  The  other  two  were  Mexicans. 

The  heavy-set  man  drew  them  aside  and  gave 

46 


Steve  Yeager 

orders  in  a  low  voice.  What  these  were  Yeager 
could  not  hear,  but  from  the  gesturing  he  Judged 
the  leader  of  the  band  was  giving  explicit  direc- 
tions which  he  expected  to  be  obeyed  to  the 
letter.  After  tying  up  Shorty  and  Yeager,  the 
Mexicans  and  the  younger  man  disappeared. 
The  steady  bawling  of  cattle  that  began  shortly 
after  told  what  they  were  doing.  The  herd  was 
being  moved  slowly  toward  the  south  from  its 
bedding-ground. 

Already  Steve  had  suspected  the  true  state  of 
affairs.  He  needed  nobody  to  tell  him  now  that 
the  cattle  were  to  be  driven  across  the  line  into 
Sonora  to  supply  some  of  the  guerilla  insurgents 
operating  in  the  wilds  of  that  state.  Once  they 
were  safe  in  Mexico  the  cattle  would  be  sold  to 
old  Pasquale  for  a  fraction  of  their  real  value, 
the  money  received  in  exchange  for  them  having 
been  wrung  by  that  old  ruffian  from  some  pris- 
oner he  had  put  to  the  torture  to  give  up  his 
honest  earnings. 

The  man  who  had  stayed  to  watch  Yeager 
and  his  riders  finished  one  cigar  and  lit  another. 
He  held  to  a  somber  silence,  smoking  moodily,  a 
vigilant  eye  on  his  prisoners.  Two  or  three  times 
he  looked  at  his  watch  impatiently.  It  must 
have  been  close  to  midnight  when  he  rose  as  if  to 
go. 

"I'm  going  back  into  the  bushes,"  he  an- 

47 


Steve  Yeager 

itounced.  "If  any  of  you  fellas  make  a  move  t@ 
free  yourself  inside  of  half  an  hour  I'll  guaran- 
tee you  die  of  lead  poisoning  sudden." 

They  heard  him  moving  away  in  the  mesquite. 

Shorty  swore  softly.  *'What  d'  you  know 
about  this?  Me,  I've  had  buck-ague  for  most 
three  hours  expecting  that  doggoned  holdup  to 
blow  the  roof  of  my  head  off.  I  don't  sabe  his 
game,  unless  he's  on  the  rustle." 

"Hell!  He's  runnin'  these  cows  into  Sonora, 
It  don't  take  any  wiz  to  guess  that,"  answered 
Or  man. 

Steve  was  already  busy  trying  to  free  himself. 
He  gave  no  credit  to  the  man's  assertion  that 
they  would  be  watched  from  the  bushes.  The 
leader  of  the  rustlers  was  already  half  a  mile 
away,  lengthening  the  distance  between  them 
at  every  stride  of  his  galloping  horse.  The  range- 
rider  knew  that  their  horses  had  probably  been 
driven  away,  but  he  knew,  too,  that  if  Four  Bits 
was  within  hearing  of  his  whistle  he  could  be 
depended  upon  to  answer. 

The  cowpuncher  had  offered  no  resistance  to 
being  tied  except  a  passive  one.  He  had  kept 
his  chest  expanded  as  much  as  possible  when  the 
ropes  had  been  tightened  and  he  had  braced  the 
muscles  of  his  arm  against  the  pressure  of  the 
folds.  Ten  minutes  of  steady  work  released  one 
arm.   The  rest  was  a  matter  of  a  few  moments. 

48 


Steve  Yeager 

With  his  knife  he  slashed  the  ropes  that  bound 
Shorty  and  Orman. 

Already  his  whistle  had  brought  an  answer 
from  Four  Bits.  Five  minutes  later  Steve  was 
astride  the  barebacked  horse  galloping  across 
country  toward  Los  Robles.  His  friends  he  had 
left  to  follow  on  foot  as  best  they  could.  He  had 
a  very  particular  reason  why  he  wanted  to  reach 
the  hotel  as  soon  as  possible.  A  suspicion  had 
bitten  into  his  mind.  He  wanted  to  verify  or 
dismiss  it. 

An  hour  later  Four  Bits  pounded  down  the 
main  street  of  Los  Robles.  Almost  simultane- 
ously Yeager  brought  the  horse  sUthering  to  a 
halt  and  with  one  lithe  swing  of  his  body  landed 
on  the  ground  in  front  of  the  hotel  porch.  He 
ran  up  the  steps  and  into  the  lobby.  Behind  his 
cage  the  night  clerk  was  drowsing. 

"Anybody  come  into  the  hotel  the  last  thirty 
minutes.^"  Yeager  asked  sharply. 

The  clerk  thought.  "No,  I  reckon  not.  There 
was  Mr.  Simmons  —  but  that  was  most  an  hour 


since." 


"Nobody  else?" 

"No.  Why?" 

The  range-rider  turned  to  the  stairs,  took  them 
three  at  a  time,  and  followed  the  corridor  to 
Room  217.  He  hammered  on  the  door  with  his 
fisL 

49 


Steve  Yeager 

A  sleepy  voice  wanted  to  know  who  was 
there. 

"It's  Steve  Yeager,  Mr.  Threewit.  I  wanta 
see  you." 

"You've  got  all  to-morrow  to  see  me  in, 
haven't  you?" 

"My  business  won't  wait." 

Grumbling,  the  producing  director  got  up. 
Presently  he  opened  the  door  and  stood  re- 
vealed in  a  dressing-gown  over  his  pajamas. 

"What  do  you  want,  my  anxious  friend?" 

"We've  been  held  up." 

"Held  up!"  A  slow  grin  spread  over  Three- 
wit's  fat  good-natured  face.  "Well,  I'll  bet  Mr. 
Holdup  did  n't  get  a  mint  off  you  lads." 

"He  did  n't  bother  with  us.  It  was  the  cattle 
he  wanted.  They've  driven  them  across  the 
line.  At  least,  I  reckon  so." 

Threewit  woke  up  instantly.  "That's  differ- 
ent.  Unload  your  story,  Yeager." 

The  extra  told  it  in  six  sentences. 

"Of  course  you  did  n't  know  any  of  the  hold- 
ups. They  were  masked,  you  say?" 

"Yep."  Steve's  cool,  steady  eyes  held  those 
of  the  director.  "But  I've  got  a  fool  notion  just 
the  same  that  I  do  know  one  of  them.  Come 
with  me  to  Harrison's  room." 

"But—" 

"I'll  do  all  the  talking.   Come  along." 

50 


Steve  Yeager 

**Now,  see  here,  Yeager.  Just  because  you 
and  Harrison  are  at  outs  — " 

**Have  I  made  any  charges  against  him? 
Maybe  I  want  to  ask  his  advice.  Maybe  he 
could  help  us  straighten  out  this  thing.  Got  to 
pull  together,  haven't  we?"  A  cynical  light 
in  the  eyes  of  the  young  man  contradicted  his 
words. 

Reluctantly  the  director  followed  the  extra 
to  the  room  of  the  heavy  on  the  third  floor. 
Yeager  knocked.  He  rapped  again,  and  a  third 
time. 

Drowsily  a  voice  demanded  what  was  wanted. 
Presently  the  door  was  flung  open  and  Harrison 
stood  blinking  in  the  doorway,  heavy-eyed  and 
slumberous. 

** What's  the  row?"  he  growled,  ftcowling  at 
Yeager. 

"We  were  held  up  on  the  way  from  Yarnell's 
by  rustlers.  They  drove  the  cattle  away  and 
left  us  tied  up." 

**That  any  reason  why  you  should  wake  me 
in  the  middle  of  the  night?  I  ain't  got  your  cattle 
under  the  bed."  The  heavy  jaw  of  the  prize- 
fighter stood  out  saliently.  Unconsciously  his 
figure  had  drooped  to  the  crouch  of  defense.  His 
small  black  eyes  were  wary  and  defiant. 

The  cowpimcher  laughed,  lightly  and  easily. 
"I'm  only  a  kid.  Mr.  Three  wit  comes  from  the 

51 


Steve  Yeager 

East  and  don't  know  anything  about  this  rust- 
ling game.   We  thought  of  you  right  away.'* 

"What  do  you  mean  you  thought  of  me?*' 

Yeager's  eyes  were  innocent  and  steady. 
**  Why,  o'  course  we  came  to  you  for  advice  — 
to  ask  you  what  we'd  better  do." 

"Oh!  That's  it,  eh?"  Was  there  the  faintest 
flitter  of  reUef  on  the  lowering  face?  Steve  could  ^ 
not  be  sure.    "  Well,  I  '11  dress  and  join  you  down- 
stairs, Mr.  Three  wit.   With  you  in  a  minute." 

"We  got  no  time  to  lose.  Mind  if  we  talk 
here,  Harrison?"  Without  waiting  for  permis- 
sion the  extra  pushed  into  the  room  and  began 
his  story.  "Must  'a'  been  about  six  miles  back 
that  we  threw  off  the  trail  and  camped.  I  fig- 
ured on  getting  in  early  in  the  forenoon.  Well, 
I  was  night-herding  when  I  got  orders  to  punch 
a  hole  in  the  atmosphere  with  my  fists.  I  did  n't 
do  a  thing  but  reach  for  the  sky.  A  big  masked 
guy  come  out  from  the  mesquite  and  helped 
himself  to  my  gun.   Then  he  tied  me  up." 

"Would  you  know  him  again  if  you  saw  him?" 
interrupted  the  prizefighter  harshly. 

The  gaze  of  Yeager  met  his  blandly.  There 
was  the  least  possible  pause,  and  with  it  a  certain 
tension.  The  younger  man  smiled.  "Why,  how 
could  I,  seeing  he  was  masked?  He  was  a  big 
sulky  brute.  I've  a  notion  I'd  know  hi»  vc^e 
again  if  I  heard  it,  though." 


Steve  Yeager 

"Think  so?"  In  Harrison's  voice  was  a  jeer, 
derision  in  the  half -shuttered  eyes  that  watched 
the  other  man  vigilantly. 

**His  hair  was  about  the  same  color  as  yours," 
added  Steve  in  a  matter-of-fact  voice. 

The  underhung  jaw  of  the  prizefighter  shot 
ouL   "Meaning  anything  particular?" 

"Why,  no,"  replied  Steve  in  amiable  surprise. 
"YVTiat  could  I  mean?" 

"How  do  I  know  what  every  buzzard-head's 
got  in  his  cocoanut?  " 

Steve  continued  his  story,  giving  fuller  details. 
His  casual  glances  wandered  about  the  room. 
They  found  no  mask,  no  Mexican  scrape,  no 
black  felt  hat.  Since  he  had  not  expected  to  see 
theae  in  plain  view  he  was  not  disappointed.  A 
belt  with  a  scabbarded  revolver  lay  on  the  table. 
The  extra  wondered  whether  it  was  the  same 
weapon  that  had  been  pressed  against  the  back 
of  his  neck  a  few  hours  earlier.  The  boots  lying 
half  under  the  bed  were  white  with  the  dust  of 
travel,  but  this  was  nothing  unusual. 

"You  can  have  my  advice  gratis  if  you  want 
it."  Harrison  addressed  himself  pointedly  to 
TRireewit.  "Send  back  to  old  man  Yarnell's  and 
you  '11  find  the  cattle  straying  in  about  day  after 
to-morrow." 

"  But,  if  rustlers  took  them  — " 

Tha  big  man  laughed  unpleasantly.   "Forget 

53 


Steve  Yeager 

it,  Mr.  Threewit.  A  fairy  tale  to  explain  how- 
come  your  faithful  cowboys  to  drap  asleep  and 
let  the  bunch  stray.  I  reckon  a  little  too  much 
redeye  in  camp  is  the  c'rect  explanation." 

Yeager  smiled,  saying  nothing. 

"And  now  I'm  going  to  beat  it  for  the  hay 
again,  Mr.  Threewit.  If  you  recollect,  I  told 
you  some  one  was  going  to  blow  up  pretty  soon. 
Good-night." 

As  they  walked  back  down  the  corridor  Steve 
asked  one  question  of  the  director.  "Did  it 
strike  you  he  was  a  leetle  too  sleepy  at  first  and 
just  a  leetle  too  quick  to  get  that  chip  on  his 
shoulder?" 

"No,  it  didn't,"  snapped  Threewit.  No- 
body likes  to  be  dragged  out  of  bed  at  two  a.m., 
to  hear  bad  news,  and  the  director  was  merely 
human.  "It  makes  me  tired  the  way  you  two 
fellows  shoot  off  about  each  other." 

"He's  a  pretty  slick  proposition,"  Yeager  went 
on,  unmoved.  "He  hit  the  high  spots  back  to 
town  so  as  to  have  his  alibi  ready  —  did  n't 
leave  any  evidence  floating  around  loose  in  his 
room.  He  must  have  come  up  the  back  way  so  as 
to  slip  in  without  being  noticed  by  the  night 
clerk.  At  that  he  could  n't  have  reached  here 
more  than  a  few  minutes  before  me." 

"Quite  a  Sherlock  Holmes,  are  n't  you.?" 

"Bet  you  a  week's  salary  that  if  we  go  out  to 

54 


Steve  Yeager 

the  stables  we  find  one  of  the  horses  still  wet  with 
sweat  from  a  long  run." 

**Go  you  once,"  retorted  Threewit  promptly. 
"Wait  just  a  jiffy  till  I  get  more  clothes  on." 

Steve's  prediction  was  verified.  White  Stock- 
ings, one  of  the  fastest  mounts  in  the  remuda  of 
the  company,  had  been  brought  in  from  a  long 
hard  run  within  the  past  half -hour.  Its  flanks 
were  stained  with  sweat  and  the  marks  of  the 
saddle  chafed  its  still  moist  back. 

*'You  win,"  admitted  Threewit.  "But  that 
does  n't  prove  Harrison  was  on  its  back." 

"No.  Say,  what  about  giving  me  a  week  off, 
Mr.  Threewit?" 

"What  for.?" 

"  I  've  just  taken  a  notion  to  travel  some.  Meb- 
be  I  might  run  acrost  those  cattle  that  strayed 
back  to  Yarnell's  whilst  I  was  sleeping." 

The  director  looked  at  him  sharply.  "AH 
right.  Go  to  it,  son." 


CHAPTER  VI 

PLUCKING  A   PIGEON 

Steve  slept  almost  around  the  clock.  He  lost 
breakfast,  but  was  there  promptly  for  luncheon 
with  the  appetite  of  a  harvest  hand.  During  the 
two  days'  drive  he  had  missed  the  good  home 
cooking  of  Mrs.  Seymour  and  he  intended  to 
make  up  for  it. 

Orman  and  Shorty  had  reached  town  some 
time  about  dayhght  and  had  spread  the  story 
of  the  holdup,  so  that  the  dining-room  was  hum- 
ming with  excitement.  A  dozen  questions  were 
flung  at  Steve  before  he  had  well  taken  his  seat. 
He  threw  up  his  hands  in  surrender. 

Before  he  had  finished  telling  his  edited  story. 
Shorty  drifted  in  and  divided  the  interest.  The 
little  extra  promptly  took  the  stage  away  from 
Yeager,  whereupon  Daisy  Ellington  absorbed  the 
attention  of  Steve.  She  asked  a  sharp  question 
or  two  which  he  answered  blandly.  It  was  not 
his  intention  to  communicate  any  suspicions  he 
happened  to  have. 

They  were  waiting  for  the  dessert.  Daisy  put 
her  lean,  pretty  elbows  on  the  table  and  her 
chin  in  her  little  doubled  fists.    A  provocative 

56 


Steve  Yeager 

audacity  was  in  the  tilted  smile  she  flashed  at 
him. 

"Well?" 

"Well,  what?" 

"Breeze  on,  Steve.  You're  doin'  fine.  Next 
scene." 

"That's  all." 

"Say,  do  I  look  like  I  was  born  yesterday? 
See  any  green  in  my  eye.  Cactus  Center?" 

He  grinned.  "You're  sure  wise,  compadre. 
But  the  rest  is  mostly  suspicions." 

"I'm  listening,"  she  nodded. 

"You're  such  a  Sherlock  Holmes  I'd  hate 
to  go  out  with  the  boys  if  I  was  married  to 

you." 

"I'm  your  friend  and  wouldn't  wish  any 
such  bad  luck  on  you,"  she  countered  gayly. 
Then,  in  a  lower  voice,  with  a  sudden  gravity: 
"Is  it  Harrison,  Steve?" 

Amazement  sparkled  for  a  moment  in  his 
eyes.  "With  your  imagination,  Daisy,  — "  he 
was  beginning  when  she  cut  him  short. 

"You  gotta  tell  me  what's  on  your  chest,  you 
transparent  kid." 

He  knew  she  could  keep  a  secret  like  a  well. 
Looking  round  guardedly,  his  voice  fell  to  a 
whisper.  "If  I'd  reached  town  ten  minutes 
aarlier  I'd  'a'  beat  him  in  and  showed  him  up. 
Threewit  won't  hear  to  it,  of  course,  but  the 

W 


Steve  Yeager 

man  that  held  me  up  was  Chad  Harrison.  Take 
it  or  leave  it.   Just  the  same  it's  a  fact." 

Daisy  nodded  rapidly  several  times.  "I  take 
it,  Steve.  Always  did  know  there  was  something 
shady  about  the  big  stiff.  And  I  '11  tell  you  some- 
thing else  you  don't  know.  It's  through  that 
wild  young  colt  brother  of  hers  that  he's  got  a 
strangle  hold  on  Ruth." 

Yeager  set  his  lips  to  a  noiseless  whistle.  "You 
mean  — ?'' 

She  flung  his  question  aside  with  an  impatient 
wave  of  her  hand.  "I  can't  tell  you  what  I  mean. 
I 've  got  no  evidence.  But  it's  true.  She's  ridi- 
culously fond  of  that  young  scamp  Phil.  Some- 
how —  in  some  way  —  Harrison  has  got  the  whip 
hand  over  him." 

His  eyes  fell  on  the  slender  girl  waiting  on  the 
table  at  the  other  end  of  the  room.  Her  look  met 
his.  It  almost  seemed  as  if  she  knew  they  had  been 
talking  about  her,  for  the  milky  cheek  took  on  a 
shell-pink  tinge.  The  long  lashes  fluttered  down 
and  she  busied  herself  at  once  about  her  work. 

"If  she  was  my  sister  — " 

Daisy  did  not  need  a  completed  sentence  to 
understand  his  meaning.  "Can  you  beat  it.^" 
she  asked  with  a  shrug.  "Any  gink  that  knows 
enough  to  come  in  out  of  the  rain  could  tell  that 
Chad  Harrison  is  a  bad  egg.  Give  him  the  once 
over  and  you  can  see  that." 

58 


I 


Steve  Yeager 

After  Ruth  had  arranged  the  tables  for  dinner 
she  stole  out  to  the  porch  for  a  breath  of  fresh 
air.  Already  the  approach  of  an  Arizona  sum- 
mer was  beginning  to  make  itself  felt  during  the 
middle  of  the  day.  Yeager  sat  beneath  the  wild 
cucumber  vines  pleating  a  horsehair  hatband 
for  Daisy  Ellington. 

Ruth  liked  this  brown,  Uthe  cowpuncher,  all 
sinew  and  bone  and  muscle.  His  smile  was  so 
warm  and  friendly,  his  manner  so  boyish  and  yet 
so  competent.  To  look  into  his  kind,  steady  eyes 
was  to  know  that  he  could  be  trusted. 

She  moved  in  his  direction  shyly,  a  touch  of 
pink  blooming  in  her  soft  cheeks.  Ruth  was 
charmingly  unsure  of  herself.  It  was  always 
easy  to  disturb  her  composure.  Even  a  casual 
encounter  with  the  shm,  brown-faced  range- 
rider  was  an  adventure  for  her.  Now  her 
pansy  eyes  deepened  in  color  with  excitement, 
with  the  tremulous  fear  of  what  she  was  to 
learn. 

"Mr.  Yeager,  I  —  wanted  to  ask  you  about 
—  about  the  holdup." 

"What  about  it,  Miss  Ruth?" 

"Did  you  —  know  any  of  them.'^" 

"How  could  I?  They  were  masked."  His 
eyes  had  taken  on  a  film  of  wariness  that  blotted 
out  for  the  moment  their  kindness. 

"I  didn't  know — I  thought,  perhaps, — '* 
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Steve  Yeager 

She  tried  a  new  start.  "Did  you  say  that  three 
of  them  were  Mexicans?" 

"Two  of  them,"  he  corrected. 

There  was  the  least  quiver  of  her  Hp.  "The 
others  were  —  both  big  men,  did  n't  you  say.'^" 

"I  did  n't  say." 

A  footstep  sounded  on  the  crisp  gravel  walk. 
Steve  looked  up,  in  time  to  catch  the  flash  of 
warning  menace  Harrison  sent  toward  the  girl. 

"Mr.  Yeager  has  been  having  a  pipe-dream, 
Ruth.  Don't  wake  him  up,"  jeered  the  heavy. 

Ruth  fled  unobtrusively  and  left  the  men 
alone. 

"Hear  you're  going  on  a  vacation,"  said  Har- 
rison gruflBy. 

"You've  heard  correct."  Yeager  pleated  his 
hatband  with  steady  fingers.  His  voice  was  even 
and  placid. 

Harrison  looked  him  over  with  indolent  inso- 
lence. "Some  folks  find  this  climate  don't  agree 
with  them.  Some  folks  find  it  better  to  drift  out, 
casual-like,  y'  understand.?" 

"Yes.?" 

"I'm  tellin'  it  to  you  straight." 

"That  you're  going  to  leave.?  The  Lunar 
Company  will  miss  you,"  suggested  the  range- 
rider  politely. 

"Think  you're  darned  clever,  don't  you?  It's 
you  that's  leaving  the  company,  Mr.  Yeager,'* 

60 


Steve  Yeager 

"For  a  week." 

"For  good." 

"Had  n't  heard  of  it.  News  to  me,"  answered 
Steve  lightly. 

"I'm  givin' you  the  tip.  See?" 

"Oncet  I  knew  a  fellow  who  Hved  to  be  'most 
ninety  minding  his  own  business,"  observed  the 
cowpuncher  to  the  world  in  general  as  he  held 
up  and  examined  his  work. 

"It  ain't  considered  safe  to  get  gay  with  me. 
I'm  liable  to  lam  your  head  off,"  threatened  the 
big  man  sullenly. 

"And  then  again  you're  liable  not  to.  I 'm  not 
freightin'  with  your  outfit,  Mr.  Harrison.  Kindly 
lay  off  of  me  and  you'll  find  we  get  along  fine.'* 

Steve  rose  and  passed  on  his  way  to  the  street. 
Harrison  was  in  two  minds  whether  to  force  an 
issue  again  with  him,  but  something  in  the  con- 
tour of  that  close-gripped  jaw,  in  the  gleam  of 
the  steady  eyes,  was  more  potent  than  the  dull 
rage  surging  in  him.  He  let  the  opportunity 
pass. 

Four  Bits  carried  Yeager  away  from  Los  Rob- 
les  at  a  road  gait.  Horse  and  rider  were  taking 
the  border  trail.  It  led  them  through  a  desolate 
country  of  desert  where  the  flat-leafed  prickly 
pear  and  the  occasional  pudgy  creosote  were 
the  chief  forms  of  vegetable  life.  Now  and  again 
a  swift  might  be  seen  basking  on  a  rock  or  a 

61 


Steve  Yeager 

Gila  monster  motionless  on  the  hillside.  The 
ominous  buzz  of  a  rattler  more  than  once  made 
the  pony  sidestep.  Mesa  and  flat  and  wash  suc- 
ceeded each  other  monotonously. 

It  was  after  sunset  when  they  drew  up  at  a 
feed  corral  in  Arixico.  Steve  looked  after  his 
horse  and  sauntered  down  the  little  adobe  street 
to  a  Chinese  restaurant  which  ostentatiously  an- 
nounced itself  as  the  "New  York  Cafe."  This 
side  of  th^  business  street  was  in  the  territory 
of  Uncle  Sam,  the  other  half  floated  the  Mexican 
flag.  After  he  had  eaten,  the  young  man  drifted 
across  to  one  of  the  gambling-houses  that  in- 
vited the  patronage  of  Americans  and  natives 
ahke. 

He  found  within  the  heterogeneous  gathering 
usually  to  be  observed  in  such  a  place.  Vaqueros 
brushed  shoulders  with  Chinese  laundrymen, 
cow-punchers  wdth  soldiers,  peons  with  cattle- 
men from  Arizona  and  Texas.  Here  were  miners 
and  soldiers  of  fortune  and  plain  tramps.  More 
than  one  of  the  shining-eyed  gamblers  had  a 
price  upon  his  head.  Several  were  outlaws.  A 
score  or  more  had  taken  part  in  the  rapine  and 
the  pillage  of  the  guerrilla  warfare  that  has  of  late 
years  been  the  curse  of  the  country.  It  would 
have  been  hard  in  a  day's  travel  to  find  an  as- 
sembly where  human  life  was  held  at  less  value. 

Among  these  lawless,  turbulent  siftings  of  the 

62 


Steve  Yeager 

continent  Yeager  was  very  much  at  home.  He 
merged  inconspicuously  into  the  picture,  a  quiet, 
brown-faced  man  with  cool,  alert  eyes.  Nobody 
paid  the  least  attention  to  him.  He  might  be  a 
horse-thief  or  an  honest  cowpuncher.  It  was  a 
matter  of  supreme  indifference  to  those  present. 
Experience  in  that  outdoor  frontier  school  which 
always  keeps  open  session  had  taught  them  that 
a  maa  lived  longer  here  when  he  minded  his  own 
business. 

Steve  stood  close  to  the  bar.  A  prospector 
leaned  against  it  and  talked  to  an  acquaintance 
while  they  drank  their  beer. 

"This  here's  how  I  figure  it,"  he  was  saying. 
"I  had  a  httle  dough  when  I  begun  digging 
gopher  holes  in  these  here  hills.  Not  much  — 
say  fifteen  hundred,  mcbbe.  I  sure  ain't  got  it 
now.  Lost  it  in  a  hole  in  the  ground.  Well;  I 
reckon  I  '11  go  on  looking  for  it  where  I  lost  it." 

Casually  Yeager  sauntered  over  to  the  rou- 
lette table.  A  fat  man  in  duck  trousers  —  he  was 
the  agent  for  a  firm  of  rifle  manufacturers,  Steve 
learned  later  —  was  bucking  the  wheel  hard. 
In  front  of  him  lay  a  pile  of  gold-pieces  and  sev- 
eral stacks  of  chips.  He  was  very  red  in  the  face 
from  excitement  and  cocktails.  The  range-rider 
put  a  half-dollar  on  the  red  and  won.  He  let 
it  ride,  won  again,  and  shifted  the  chips  to  the 
black.  Once  more  the  goddess  of  luck  favored 

63 


Steve  Yeager 

him.  He  divided  his  pile.  Half  went  on  the  red, 
the  rest  on  the  first  number  his  eye  caught.  It 
happened  to  be  seventeen.  The  croupier  spun 
the  wheel  again.  The  ball  whirled  roimd,  dipped 
down  once  or  twice,  and  plumped  into  the  com- 
partment numbered  seventeen. 

"Enough's  a-plenty.  Here's  where  I  cash  in,** 
announced  Steve  cheerfully. 

He  stuffed  the  bills  carelessly  into  his  pockel 
and  strolled  over  to  the  faro  table.  Yeager  ha(} 
come  on  business,  not  for  pleasure.  He  intended 
to  play  just  enough  to  give  a  colorable  reason 
for  his  presence. 

His  roving  eye  settled  upon  the  poker  table 
at  the  rear  of  the  room.  Five  men  were  playing. 
Two  were  Mexicans,  three  white.  Two  of  the 
Americans  were  dismissed  from  Steve's  mind 
with  a  casual  glance.  They  were  negligible  fac- 
tors. The  third  had  his  back  to  the  observer,  but 
the  figure  had  a  slender,  boyish  trimness  that 
spoke  of  youth.  The  Mexican  sitting  to  his 
right  was  a  square-built  fellow  of  forty  with  a 
scar  on  the  cheek  running  from  mouth  to  ear* 
There  was  on  his  face  a  certain  ugliness  of  ex- 
pression, a  furtive  cruelty.  That  there  was  an 
understanding  between  him  and  the*  man  oppo- 
site soon  became  apparent  to  Yeager.  They 
cross-raised  the  boy,  working  together  to  mulct 
him  of  the  pile  of  chips  in  front  of  him. 

64 


Steve  Yeager 

It  was  the  Mexican  who  sat  with  his  back  to 
the  wall  that  drew  and  held  the  cowpuncher's 
eye.  He  too  was  slender,  not  much  past  thirty, 
but  with  the  youth  long  since  stamped  out  of 
his  face.  Sleek  and  black,  a  dominant  personal- 
ity, he  sat  there  warily  as  a  rattlesnake,  dark 
eyes  gleaming  from  a  masked,  smiUng  counte- 
nance. 

The  boy  was  the  pigeon,  and  it  was  the  Mexi- 
cans that  were  plucking  him.  So  much  Steve 
learned  within  two  minutes.  He  had  cut  his  eye 
teeth  at  poker,  and  he  saw  at  a  glance  that  this 
was  no  game  for  a  youngster.  Quietly  he  moved 
a  step  or  two  closer  along  the  wall.  He  observed 
the  play  without  appearing  to  do  so. 

The  tension  of  the  game  was  reheved  with 
casual  conversation.  The  two  negligibles,  play- 
ing about  even,  contributed  mostly  to  it.  The 
bulky  Mexican  added  his  quota.  The  boy,  a 
heavy  loser,  concealed  his  feelings  under  the 
bravado  expected  of  a  good  sport. 

They  were  playing  jack  pots  with  a  stripped 
deck,  the  joker  going  as  a  fifth  ace  or  to  fill  a 
straight  or  a  flush.  Several  hands  were  dealt 
without  any  stayers.  The  slender  Mexican  was 
deaUng  when  the  sensation  of  the  game  was 
handed  out. 

One  of  the  neghgibles  opened  the  pot.  The 
bulky  Mexican  stayed. 

65 


Steve  Yeager 

In  the  slow,  easy  drawl  of  the  Southwest  the 
boy  spoke.  "  Me,  I  reckon  I'll  have  to  tilt  it. 
Got  to  protect  your  hand  from  the®e  wolvesj 
Dave."  He  pushed  in  a  stack  of  blue  chips. 

The  third  American  did  not  stay.  It  wa«  now 
up  to  the  dealer  —  his  name,  it  appeared,  was 
Ramon  Culvera.  After  a  moment's  hesitation  he 
measured  a  stack  of  blues  by  those  the  boy  had 
put  in  the  pot  and  added  to  it  another  pile  of 
yellows.  With  a  grunt  of  protest  the  older  Mexi- 
can stayed.  The  man  who  had  opened  the  pot 
dropped  out. 

''Enough's  a-pl^^aty.  Me,  I  got  no  business 
trailing  along  with  you  hyenas,"  he  explained. 

"Different  here,"  commented  the  boy.  "My 
cards  look  good  enough  for  another  hike." 

Culvera  examined  his  hand  carefully,  met  the 
raise,  and  picked  up  the  deck. 

The  Mexican  with  the  scar  interposed.  "But 
one  moment,  senor.  Let  us  make  it  a  good  pot." 
He  pushed  in  all  the  chips  in  front  of  him. 

Yeager,  standing  against  the  wall,  caught  the 
swift  flash  of  surprise  in  the  eyes  of  the  boy.  He 
counted  the  chips  of  the  Mexican  and  th^  his 
own.  These  he  added  to  the  small  fortune  in  the 
center  of  the  table. 

"Call  it.  I'm  fifty-three  shy,'*  he  said  in  an 
even  voice. 

The  range-rider  knew  without  being  told  that 

66 


Steve  Yeager 

this  hand  had  been  dealt  from  a  cold  deck  for  the 
express  purpose  of  cleaning  out  the  boy.  From 
the  tenseness  of  the  Uthe  body,  which  had  be- 
come, as  it  were,  a  coiled  spring,  he  knew  that 
the  lad's  suspicions  were  stirring  to  life. 

The  greedy  little  eyes  of  Culvera  fastened  on 
the  boy.  He  made  his  first  mistake.  "How 
much  you  play  back,  Pheehp.?" 

The  youngster  answered.  "  I  said  a  hundred 
bucks,  I've  got  fifty-three  in  the  pot  now.  That 
leaves  forty-seven." 

Culvera's  raise  was  forty-seven  dollars.  The 
big  Mexican  shrugged.  "Too  steep  for  Jesus 
Mendoza."  He  threw  his  cards  into  the  discard. 

The  boy  who  had  been  called  Philip  laid  his 
cards  face  down  on  the  table  in  front  of  him. 

"Call  it,"  he  annoimced  hoarsely.  His  eyes 
were  fastened  steadily  on  the  nimble  brown  fin- 
gers of  the  dealer. 

"  Cards  .^"  asked  Culvera  with  an  indolent 
lift  of  his  eyebrows. 

Philip  hesitated.  He  had  the  nine,  ten,  and 
jack  of  clubs,  the  queen  of  hearts,  and  the  joker. 
This  counted  as  a  king-high  straight.  Steve, 
standing  back  and  to  one  side  of  him,  guessed 
the  boy's  dilemma.  Should  he  stand  pat  on  his 
straight  or  discard  the  heart  and  draw  to  his 
straight  flush?  Culvera's  play  had  shown  great 
strength    and    would   probably   beat   the   pat 

67 


Steve  Yeager 

hand.  The  lad  took  a  chance  and  called  for  one 
card. 

Culvera  drew  two.  He  left  them  lying  on  the 
table  while  he  discarded  leisurely. 

"You're  all  in,  Pheelip.  It's  a  showdown. 
What  you  got?'' 

Philip  had  drawn  the  six  of  clubs.  He  spread 
his  hand  with  a  sweeping  gesture.  "All  blue." 

The  Mexican  shrugged.  "Beats  me  unless  I 
helped."  He  showed  three  eights,  then  faced 
the  two  cards  he  had  drawn.  The  first  was  a 
king  of  diamonds,  the  second  the  fourth  eight. 

"Hard  luck,  Pheelip,"  he  said,  and  all  his 
teeth  flashed  in  a  friendly  smile  as  he  opened 
both  arms  to  rake  in  the  chips. 

Philip  sat  silent,  his  mind  seething  with  sus- 
picions. Culvera  had  played  his  hand  very 
strangely,  unless  —  unless  he  had  known  that 
a  fourth  eight  was  waiting  for  him  in  the  deck. 
The  boy  looked  up,  in  time  to  catch  a  vanishing 
smile  on  the  face  of  Mendoza. 

"Just  a  moment,  Ramon,"  he  called  sharply, 
covering  the  chips  with  his  hands-  "That  play 
—  it  don't  look  good  to  me.  A  man  don't  play 
threes  so  strong  as  that." 

Culvera  still  smiled  blandly,  though  his  eyes 
were  very  watchful.  "Me,  I  have  what  you  caU 
a  hunch,  Pheelip." 

Yeager  took  two  steps  forward.  "You  bet  he 

68 


Steve  Yeager 

did.  Cold  deck,  kid.  The  other  one  is  in  his 
right-hand  coat  pocket." 

The  suavity  went  out  of  Culvera's  face  as  a 
light  does  from  a  blown  candle.  Snarling,  he 
rose  from  his  seat  and  faced  the  cowpuncher. 

"Liar!  Cabrone!"  he  hissed,  reaching  for  his 
gun. 

Aheady  the  revolver  of  Mendoza  was  flash- 
ing in  the  air. 

Like  a  streak  Steve's  arm  swept  up.  Twice 
his  revolver  sounded.  There  was  a  crash  of 
breaking  glass  from  the  incandescent  Ughts. 
Yeager  flung  himself  against  the  table  and  drove 
it  against  Culvera  who  reeled  back  against  the 
wall  and  dropped  his  weapon.  The  sound  of 
more  shots,  of  men  dodging  their  way  to  safety, 
of  a  sharp  cry  followed  by  groans,  had  trodden 
so  swiftly  on  the  heels  of  the  range-rider's  action 
that  when  he  turned  a  moment  later  he  saw  in 
the  semi-darkness  a  smoke-filled  room  in  the 
confusion  of  chaotic  movement. 

Philip  stood  close  to  him,  a  smoking  .38  in  his 
hand,  while  Mendoza,  clutching  at  his  chair  for 
support,  sank  slowly  to  the  ground. 

Close  to  the  boy's  ear  spoke  Steve.  "Beat  it. 
Make  yoiu*  getaway  through  that  door.  Meet 
me  at  Johanson's  corral.'* 

The  boy  plunged  through  the  doorway  into 
the  darkness  outside.  Toward  the  exit  after  him 

69 


Steve  Yeager 

backed  the  cowpuncher.  Already  scattered  shots 
were  being  flung  in  his  direction,  but  the  dim 
light  served  him  well.  The  last  thing  he  saw 
before  he  vanished  through  the  door  was  Culvera 
groping  for  his  weapon. 


CHAPTER  VII 

STEVE  TELLS  TOO  MUCH  TRUTH 

Yeager  ducked  into  the  night.  From  the 
door  through  which  he  had  just  come  bullets 
spat  aimlessly.  He  crouched  as  he  ran,  dodging 
in  zigzag  little  rushes.  Voices  pursued  him,  fierce 
and  threatening.  Men  poured  from  the  gam- 
bling-house as  seeds  are  squirted  from  a  squeezed 
lemon. 

Into  a  vacant  lot  behind  a  store  Steve  swerved, 
finding  shelter  among  some  empty  drygoods 
boxes.  He  was  none  too  soon,  for  as  he  sank 
to  cover,  the  rush  of  feet  padded  down  the  side- 
walk. Stealthily  he  crept  to  the  fence,  vaulted 
it  lightly,  and  found  a  more  secure  hiding-place 
in  the  lumber  yard  beyond.  From  the  top  of  a 
pile  of  two  by  fours  he  watched,  every  sense 
alert  to  catch  any  warning  of  danger. 

Soon  his  pursuers  returned  in  little  groups  to 
their  interrupted  games.  Now  that  the  first  ex- 
citement of  the  chase  was  over,  few  of  them 
wanted  to  risk  a  battle  with  desperate  men  i^ 
the  dark.  That  was  what  the  rurales  and  the 
rangers  were  for. 

The  cowpimcher  slid  down  cautiously  and 

71 


Steve  Yeager 

left  the  lumber  yard  by  way  of  the  alley  m 
the  rear.  He  followed  a  barb-wire  fence  which 
bounded  a  pasture,  and  at  the  next  corner  crossed 
the  street  warily  into  United  States  territory. 
By  alleys  and  back  ways  his  feet  took  him  to 
Johanson's  stable.  Noiselessly  he  crept  toward 
it  from  the  rear.  Some  one  was  inside  saddling 
a  horse.  So  much  he  could  gather  from  the 
sounds.  Was  it  Phil.^  Or  was  it  some  one  getting 
ready  for  the  pursuit  .^^  He  moved  a  step  nearer. 
A  stick  cracked  beneath  his  foot. 

The  man  saddling  the  bronco  whirled,  re- 
volver in  hand.  *' Who  is  it.^ "  demanded  a  tense 
voice. 

''All  right,  Phil."  Steve  moved  forward, 
breathing  easier.  ''Glad  you  made  it.  We'd  bet- 
ter light  a  shuck  out  of  here.  They  '11  stir  up  the 
rurales  to  get  after  us,T  reckon." 

Already  he  was  busy  saddling  Four  Bits. 

"Do  you  ...  do  you  think  I  killed  him?" 
jerked  out  the  boy,  a  strangled  sob  of  over- 
strained emotion  in  his  throat. 

"Don't  know.  He  was  asking  for  it,  was  n't 
he?"  answered  Yeager  in  a  matter-of-fact  voice. 
He  did  not  intend  by  an  expression  of  sympathy 
to  aid  in  any  breakdown  here.  That  could  come 
later  when  they  had  put  many  miles  between 
them  and  Arixico. 

They  led  their  horses  out  of  the  stable  and 

(7« 


Steve  Yeager 

swung  to  the  saddles  not  a  minute  too  soon.   A 
man  came  running  toward  them. 

"Hold  on,"  he  called.  "Just  a  moment.  I'm 
the  sheriff.   They  say  a  man  has  been  killed." 

The  fugitives  put  spurs  to  their  broncos.  The 
animals  jumped  to  a  canter.  Over  his  shoulder 
Steve  looked  back.  The  sheriff  was  standing  un- 
decided. Before  it  penetrated  his  brain  that 
these  were  the  men  he  wanted  they  were  out  of 
range. 

For  a  time  they  rode  in  silence  except  for  the 
clicking  of  the  hoofs.  Yeager  turned,  his  hand 
on  the  rump  of  his  pony. 

"Don't  hear  anything  of  them.  We've  made 
a  clean  getaway,  looks  Uke.  But  they'll  keep 
the  wires  warm  after  us  —  if  Mendoza  is 
dead." 

The  boy  broke  down,  sobbing.  "My  God,  I 
could  n't  help  it.  What  else  could  I  do?  He  was 
shooting  when  I  fired." 

"Sure  he  was,  but  that  won't  help  you  if  they 
take  you  back  to  Mexico.  My  advice  is  for  you 
to  get  into  a  hole  and  draw  it  in  after  you,  for  a 
few  days  anyhow.     Where  do  you  Uve?" 

"At  Los  Robles  —  when  I'm  at  home." 

"Then  you  are  Phil  Seymour?" 

"Who  told  you?"  flashed  the  boy. 

"I  board  with  yoiu*  mother.  I'm  a  rider  for 
the  Lunar  Company." 

(73 


Steve  Yeager 

"Then  you  know  Chad  Harrison.  Chad  will 
get  me  out  of  this.     He'll  fix  it." 

"How '11  he  fix  it.^"  demanded  Yeager  bluntly. 
"Back  there  across  the  line  they're  going  to  call 
this  by  an  ugly  name  —  if  Mendoza  cashes  in  his 
checks.   Harrison  can't  fix  murder,  can  he.^" 

A  film  of  hard  wariness  covered  the  eyes  of  the 
boy  as  he  looked  across  in  the  darkness  at  the 
other  man.  "  He 's  got  friends,"  was  the  dry,  non- 
committal answer  that  came  to  the  range-rider 
after  a  moment's  distinct  pause. 

Yeager  asked  no  more  questions.  There  had 
been  a  "No  trespass"  sign  in  Phil's  manner. 
But  as  they  rode  silently  toward  Los  Robles 
Steve's  mind  groped  again  with  the  problem  of 
Harrison's  relation  to  those  in  power  across  the 
border.  Was  the  man  tied  up  with  old  Pasquale? 
Or  was  he  an  agent  of  the  Huerta  Government.'* 
Just  now  the  Federals  had  control  of  this  part  of 
the  border.  Did  the  boy  mean  that  it  was  among 
them  that  Harrison  had  friends?  It  looked  that 
way,  and  yet  —  The  cowpuncher  could  not  get 
it  out  of  his  head  that  the  stolen  cattle  had  been 
for  old  Pasquale.  Huerta's  lieutenants  were  too 
wary  to  stock  their  pantry  from  the  United 
States  in  that  fashion. 

They  rode  into  Los  Robles  in  the  first  gray 
stirrings  of  dawn,  long  before  anybody  in  the 
little  town  was  afoot. 

74 


I 


Steve  Yeager 

** Where  are  you  going  to  hide?  First  place 
they'll  look  for  you  will  be  at  home,"  suggested 
Yeager. 

**  There's  a  haystack  out  in  the  Lunar  pastures. 
I  '11  lay  low  there.  Tell  Chad  when  you  see  him, 
and  have  Ruth  fix  me  up  something  to  eat." 

They  parted,  each  of  them  to  get  in  what  sleep 
was  possible  before  day.  When  Steve  was  awak- 
ened by  the  sound  of  some  one  stirring  in  the 
next  room  it  seemed  as  though  he  had  been  in 
bed  only  a  few  minutes. 

He  walked  up  to  the  hotel  before  breakfast  and 
saw  Harrison  as  the  actor  was  going  into  the  din- 
ing-room. The  big  man  stopped  in  his  tracks 
and  shot  out  a  heavy  jaw  at  him. 

"Thought  you  was  giving  our  eyes  a  rest  for  a 
while,"  he  growled. 

Yeager  decUned  to  exchange  compliments  with 
him.  "There's  a  friend  of  yours  on  the  haystack 
in  the  pasture.  He  wants  to  see  you  soon  as  it's 
convenient." 

The  eyes  of  the  pugihst  narrowed.  "Put  a 
name  to  him." 

"Phil  Seymour." 

"What's  he  doing  here.^"  demanded  Harrison 
blackly. 

"Perhaps  you'd  better  ask  him."  Steve 
turned  on  his  heel  and  walked  back  to  his  board- 
ing-house. 

7.5 


Steve  Yeager 

His  arrival  at  the  breakfast  table  was  greeted 
with  a  chorus  of  exclamations.  What  was  he  do- 
ing back  so  soon?  Had  he  got  homesick?  Had  he 
run  out  of  money  already? 

He  let  them  worm  out  of  him  that  he  had  rid- 
den away  and  forgotten  his  purse  and  that  upon 
discovering  this  he  had  come  back  tor  the  sup- 
plies of  war.  They  joked  him  unmercifully,  even 
Daisy,  —  who  was  manifestly  incredulous  about 
his  explanation,  —  and  he  accepted  their  hilari- 
ous repartee  with  the  proper  amount  of  sheepish 
resentment. 

After  the  meal  was  over  he  lingered  to  see 
Ruth,  who  had  just  sat  down  to  eat. 

"Can  I  see  you  alone.  Miss  Ruth?" 

She  flashed  a  quick  look  at  him,  doubtful  and 
apprehensive.  "In  the  pergola,  almost  right 
away." 

The  girl  reached  the  vine-draped  entrance  of 
the  pergola  shortly  after  Yeager.  Manifestly  her 
fears  had  been  growing  in  the  interval  since  he 
had  left  her. 

"What  is  it?"  And  swift  on  the  heels  of  that, 
"Is  it  about  PhU?" 

"Yes." 

"He's  in  trouble  .  .  .  agsin?"  she  breathed. 

He  nodded  assent.  "The  boy 's  out  in  the  pas- 
ture.  He  wants  you  to  send  him  breakfast." 

The  dread  that  was  always  lying  banked  in 

76 


Steve  Yeager 

the  hearts  of  herself  and  her  mother  found  voice. 
"What  has  he  done  now?" 

The  range-rider  chose  his  words  carefully, 
"There  was  some  trouble  —  just  across  the  bor- 
der.  He  had  to  shoot  .  .  .  and  a  man  fell." 

Her  face  mirrored  terror.  "You  mean  .  .  . 
dead.?" 

"I  don't  know,"  he  answered  gravely. 

"Tell  me  all  about  it,  please,  — the  circum- 
stances, everything." 

"He  will  tell  you  himself.  I'll  just  say  this  — 
the  shooting  was  forced  on  him.  He  fired  in  self- 
defense." 

She  wrung  her  hands.  "I  knew  ...  I  knew 
something  dreadful  would  happen.  Mr.  Harri- 
son promised  me  —  he  said  he  would  look  out 
for  Phil." 

Steve  looked  her  straight  in  the  eyes.  "  Har- 
rison 's  a  crook.  He 's  been  using  your  love  for 
Phil  as  a  lever.  It's  up  to  you  and  the  boy  to 
shake  him  off." 

A  swift,  upblazing  anger  leaped  to  her  face. 
"How  dare  you  say  that!   How  dare  you!" 

His  blue  eyes  met  her  dark,  stormy  ones  quietly 
and  steadily.  "I'm  telling  you  the  truth.  Can't 
you  see  he's  been  leading  Phil  into  deviltry .^^ 
You're  afraid  of  him,  afraid  of  his  influence 
over  the  boy.  That's  why  you  knuckle  down  to 
him." 

W 


Steve  Yeager 

"I'm  not  afraid.  He's  Phil's  friend.  You're 
against  him  just  because  he  —  he  — " 

"Say  it,  Miss  Ruth.  Just  because  he  gave  me 
the  whahng  of  my  young  hfe.  Nothing  to  that, 
nothing  a-talL  My  system  can  absorb  a  hcking 
without  bearing  a  grudge.  But  he  ain't  on  the 
level.  'Course  you'll  hate  me  for  saying  it,  but 
some  one's  got  to  tell  you." 

"It's  none  of  your  business.  I  dare  say  it  was 
you  that  was  with  Phil  when  he  —  when  he  — 
got  into  trouble." 

"Yes." 

"I  thought  so."  A  sob  swelled  up  in  her 
throat.  "You  come  here  and  make  trouble.  I  do 
hate  you  if  you  want  to  know." 

With  that  she  turned  tempestuously  and  went 
flying  back  to  the  house. 

Steve  smiled  ruefully.  He  did  not  know  much 
about  women,  but  he  had  read  somewhere  that 
they  were  capable  of  injustice.  She  had  plenty 
of  spirit,  anyhow,  for  all  that  she  looked  so  de- 
miu-e  and  shy. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE   HEAVY   GETS   HIS   TIME 

Threewit  came  to  Steve  while  Cummings  was 
preparing  the  stage  set  for  a  dissolve. 

"Wish  you'd  look  over  this  scenario,  Yeager. 
The  old  man  sent  it  out  to  me  to  see  if  we  can 
pull  off  the  riding  end  of  it.  Scene  twenty-seven 
is  the  sticker.  Here's  the  idea:  You've  been 
thrown  from  your  horse  and  your  foot's  caught 
in  the  stirrup.  You  draw  your  gat  to  shoot  the 
bronch  and  it's  bumped  out  of  your  hand  as 
you're  dragged  over  the  rough  ground.  Seei^ 
You  save  your  life  by  wriggling  your  foot  out  of 
yoiu*  boot.  Can  it  be  done  without  taking  too 
many  chances?" 

The  rider  considered.  "I  reckon  it  could  if  a 
fellow's  boot  was  fixed  so  he  could  slip  his  foot 
out  at  the  right  time.   I  '11  take  a  whirl  at  it." 

"There's  another  scene  where  you  save  Maisie 
by  jumping  from  your  horse  to  a  wild  steer  that's 
pursuing  her.  You  '11  have  to  twist  its  head  and 
throw  the  brute  after  you  straddle  it." 

"All  right.  When  you  want  to  pull  it  ofF.^ " 

"We  can  do  the  stirrup  one  to-day,  before  you 
go  —  if  you  still  want  to  go." 

"Got  an  answer  yet  from  Arixico.'^" 

79 


Steve  Yeager 

"Just  got  it.  Mendoza's  still  alive,  but 
mighty  badly  hurt.  I've  sent  the  kid  out  to  the 
animal  farm.  He'll  lie  low,  and  they  won't  find 
him  there." 

"I'm  still  curious  about  that  bunch  of  cattle 
we  lost.  If  you  can  spare  me  I  '11  run  down  and 
see  if  old  Pasquale  has  n't  got  'em.  It  ain't  likely 
we  '11  ever  get  hide  or  hair  of  'em,  but  there 's  one 
thing  I'd  like  to  find  out." 

"Still  got  that  notion  about  Harrison.?" 

"Maybe  I  have.  Maybe  I  have  n't.  Anyhow, 
folks  that  are  blind  can't  see.  I'll  keep  my  no- 
tions in  my  own  fool  haid  for  a  while." 

"Harrison  has  some  friends  across  the  line. 
He 's  going  to  try  and  fix  it  for  the  kid  if  they  run 
him  down." 

"  That 's  fine,"  commented  Yeager  dryly.  "  He 
sure  must  have  influential  friends." 

"All  ready,  Mr.  Threewit,"  called  out  Cum- 
mings. 

The  director  lit  a  cigar  and  moved  forward  to 
the  stage.  "Lennox,  you're  too  far  up  stage. 
Register  fear,  Daisy.  That's  the  idea.  Now, 
then,  Miss  Winters.  Keep  your  eyes  on  Daisy 
as  you  come  into  the  room.  No  —  no  —  no! 
That  won't  do  at  all." 

Yeager  left  them  to  their  rehearsal  troubles 
and  strolled  back  to  his  boarding-house.  He 
would  not  be  needed  till  afternoon. 

80 


Steve  Yeager 

He  spent  a  half -hour  softening  the  leather  of 
his  right  boot  around  the  ankle.  A  man  cannot 
tumble  from  a  running  horse,  let  himself  be 
dragged  forty  yards,  and  then  slip  his  foot  from 
the  stirrup  of  a  cowpony  that  has  become  fright- 
ened without  taking  a  big  chance.  But  it  was  his 
business  to  take  chances.  He  always  had  taken 
them.  And  he  knew  that  they  could  be  mini- 
mized by  careful  preparation,  expertness,  and 
cool  skill  of  execution. 

As  it  turned  out,  Yeager  had  to  make  his  fall 
twice.  The  ground  selected  for  the  set  was  a  bit 
of  level  space  just  at  the  foot  of  a  hillside.  The 
rider  W3nt  down  hard  on  his  shoulder  at  exactly 
the  spot  selected,  but  he  had  miscalculated 
slightly  and  the  force  of  the  fall  dragged  his  foot 
from  the  boot  at  once.  His  calculations  worked 
better  at  the  second  attempt.  Hanging  on  by 
a  toe-hold,  he  was  dragged  bumping  over  the 
rough  ground.  His  revolver  came  out  on  sched- 
ule time  and  flew  into  the  air.  When  Farrar 
gave  the  word,  —  which  was  at  the  moment  the 
galloping  horse  was  opposite  the  camera,  — 
Steve  worked  his  foot  free,  leaving  the  boot  still 
clinging  to  the  stirrup. 

Yeager  got  to  his  feet  rather  imsteadily.  The 
fall  had  been  an  unusually  hard  one,  and  it  had 
not  helped  any  to  be  dragged  at  full  speed  over 
the  bmnpy  ground.   Maisie  Winters  ran  forward 

81 


Steve  Yeager 

and  slipped  an  arm  around  his  waist  to  support 
him. 

"  You  dandy  man !  I  never  did  see  one  so  game 
as  you,  Steve." 

The  cowpuncher  grinned.  He  Kked  Maisie 
Winters.  There  was  about  her  a  boyish,  slangy 
camaraderie  that  made  for  popularity. 

*'Says  the  extra  to  the  star,  'Much  dbliged, 
ma'am.'  " 

"You're  no  extra.  In  your  own  line  you're  as 
big  a  star  as  we  've  got.  I  know  there  is  n't  a 
rider  in  the  country  like  you.  You're  a  jim- 
dandy." 

*'He's  quite  a  family  pet,"  contributed  Harri- 
son sourly. 

Farrar  came  forward  from  the  camera,  his  eyes 
shining.  "Some  picture,  I'll  bet.  Good  boy! 
You  pulled  it  fine,  Steve.  Did  n't  he,  Threewit.? " 

The  director  nodded.  He  was  wondering  how 
much  he  would  have  to  raise  this  young  man's 
salary  to  hold  him  from  rival  companies. 

"Sho!  I  just  fell  out  of  the  saddle,  Frank, 
Most  any  one  can  fall  off  a  horse." 

Harrison  laughed  spitefully.  "I  saw  him  do  a 
better  fall  than  that  oncet." 

Farrar  was  on  the  spot.  "I  saw  you  do  a 
mighty  good  one  the  same  day." 

"Don't  get  fresh,  young  fella,  or  you'll  do 
more  than  see  one,"  snarled  the  heavy. 

82 


Steve  Yeager 

*^Want  to  beat  me  up,  Chad?"  asked  Farrar 
with  innocent  impudence.  "I  weigh  one  hundred 
and  thirty-one  pounds  when  I'm  hog  fat.  How 
much  do  you  weigh?" 

"  Cut  it  out,  Frank,"  ordered  Threewit.  "  I  've 
had  about  enough  of  this  janghng.  If  it  is  n  't 
stopped,  some  one's  going  to  lose  a  job.  We  're 
here  to  take  pictures.  Any  one  who's  got  any 
other  idea  had  better  call  at  the  office  for  his 
time." 

"Meaning  me,  Mr.  Director?"  demanded 
Harrison  menacingly. 

"Meaning  you  or  anybody  else  that  won't 
keep  the  rules  I  set  for  the  company  I  run,"  re- 
torted the  director  sharply. 

"Forget  it,  Threewit.  I'm  no  kid.  Nobody 
runs  me  with  rules.  I  do  as  I  please." 

"You'll  not  make  trouble  in  my  company." 

"You  ain't  any  little  tin  god  on  wheels.  Don't 
run  away  with  that  idee  in  your  bean.  I  have  n't 
seen  any  man  yet  that  can  lay  onto  me  without 
getting  his  hair  curled  for  him.  Me,  I  play  my 
own  hand,  by  God;  and  I  don't  care  whether 
it 's  against  Mr.  Yeager  or  Mr.  Farrar  —  or  Mr. 
Threewit.  See?" 

"Your  pay  is  waiting  for  you,  Harrison." 

"What?  How's  that?"  he  snarled. 

"You're  discharged  —  no  longer  working  for 
the  Lunar  Company." 

88 


Steve  Yeager 

Harrison's  face  became  an  apoplectic  purple. 
He  stood  with  clenched  fists  glaring  at  the  direc- 
tor, ready  to  explode  with  rage.  It  was  a  part 
of  his  vanity  that  he  had  not  supposed  for  an 
instant  that  Threewit  would  let  him  go. 

But  it  happened  that  the  director  had  a  tem- 
per of  his  own.  He  had  chafed  long  enough  un- 
der the  domineering  ways  of  the  ex-prizefighter. 
Moreover,  Harrison  was  no  longer  so  essential 
to  the  company.  Yeager  was  a  far  better  rider 
and  could  register  more  effectively  the  feats  of 
horsemanship  that  were  a  feature  of  the  Lunar 
films.  Billie  Threewit  had  known  for  some  time 
that  this  man  was  an  element  of  disorganization 
in  the  company.  Therefore  he  was  letting  him  go. 

Steve  stood  quietly  in  the  background,  one 
arm  thrown  carelessly  across  the  neck  of  his 
pony.  But  his  gaze  did  not  lift  from  the  heavy, 
who  stood  glaring  at  the  director,  his  fingers 
working  and  head  thrust  low  on  the  deep  chest 
so  that  the  gorilla  hunch  was  emphasized.  The 
man's  black  eyes  snapped  with  a  blazing  fire 
that  seemed  ready  to  leap  like  a  crouched  tigo*. 

''Through  with  me,  are  you.^^  Going  to  use 
that  grand-stander  Yeager  instead,  I  reckon. 
That's  the  game,  is  it.?" 

''I'm  not  discussing  my  plans  with  you." 

"Ain't  you?  Well,  I'll  discuss  mine  to  this 
extent.  I'll  make  you  sick  of  this  day's  work  all 

84 


Steve  Yeager 

right  before  I'm  through  with  you.  Get  that? 
Plumb  sick."  His  eyes  traveled  around  the  half- 
circle  till  they  met  those  of  Yeager.  "You'll 
get  yours  too,  my  friend.  Believe  me.  Get  it 
a-plenty.  You're  going  to  sweat  blood  when  I 
git  you  hog-tied." 

He  turned  away,  flung  himself  on  his  horse, 
and  dug  the  rowels  into  the  sides  of  the  animal 
savagely. 

Farrar  laughed  nervously.  "Exit  Mr.  Chad 
Harrison,  some  annoyed." 

Steve  looked  gravely  at  his  employer.  "Sorry 
you  tied  that  can  on  him,  Mr.  Threewit.  He's 
not  just  the  man  I'd  choose  for  an  enemy  if  I 
was  picking  one." 

"Had  to  do  it  sometime.  The  sooner  the 
quicker.  Anyhow,  he  has  n't  got  it  in  for  me  as 
much  as  he  has  for  you." 

Yeager  shrugged.  "Oh,  me.  That's  different. 
'Course  he  hates  me  thorough,  but  I'm  sorry 
you  got  mixed  in  it." 

"What  difference  does  it  make?  He  can't 
hurt  me  any."  The  director  clapped  his  hands 
briskly.  "All  over  at  the  willows  for  the 
kid-finding  scene.  Got  your  location  picked, 
Farrar?" 


CHAPTER  IX 

GABRIEL   PASQUALE 

A  RED-HOT  cannon  ball  was  flaming  high  m 
the  heavens  when  Yeager  drew  out  of  Los  Robles 
at  a  road  gait.  The  desert  winds  were  whisper- 
ing good-night  to  the  sun  as  he  crossed  Dry 
Sandy  just  above  the  Sinks.  Many  dusty  miles 
in  Sonora  had  been  clipped  off  by  Four  Bits  be- 
fore the  chill  moon  rose  above  the  black  line  of 
the  distant  hills  and  flooded  a  transformed  land 
with  magical  light,  touching  a  parched  and  arid 
earth  to  a  vibrant  and  mysterious  beauty  of 
whispering  yucca  and  fantastic  cactus  and  weird 
outline  of  mesquite. 

Twice  he  unsaddled  the  bronco,  hobbled  it, 
and  lay  on  his  back  with  his  face  to  the  million 
stars  of  night.  The  first  time  he  gave  Four  Bits 
an  hour's  rest  and  grazing.  It  was  midnight 
when  he  dismounted  at  a  water-hole  gone  almost 
dry  under  many  summer  suns.  Here  he  slept 
the  heavy,  restful  sleep  of  healthy,  fatigued 
youth,  arms  and  legs  sprawling,  serene  and  peace- 
ful, unmoving  as  a  lifeless  log. 

With  the  first  faint  streaks  of  dawn  that  came 
flooding  into  the  eastern  sky  he  was  afoot,  knock- 

86 


Steve  Yeager 

ing  together  such  breakfast  as  a  rider  of  the 
plains  needs.  Presently  he  was  once  more  in  the 
saddle,  pushing  across  the  tawny,  empty  desert 
toward  the  hills  that  hid  Noche  Buena,  the  vil- 
lage where  Pasquale  had  his  headquarters. 

The  smell  of  breakfast  and  the  smoke  of  it 
were  in  the  air  when  he  rode  into  the  street  lined 
with  brown  adobe  huts.  The  guards  paid  no 
attention  to  him.  Gringos  evidently  were  no 
unusual  sight  to  the  troopers  of  the  insurgent 
chief.  Most  of  these  were  wearing  blue  denim 
suits  of  overall  stuff,  though  a  few  were  clad  in 
khaki.  All  carried  bright-colored  handkerchiefs 
around  their  necks.  Scrapes,  faded  and  bright, 
of  all  hues  and  textures,  were  in  evidence  every- 
where. 

He  stopped  a  boy  in  riding-boots  reaching 
to  his  hips,  down  the  sides  of  which  were  conchas 
of  silver  dollars.  Like  most  of  those  in  camp  the 
face  upturned  to  that  of  Yeager  was  of  a  strong 
Indian  cast. 

The  American  inquired  where  the  general 
might  be  found. 

The  boy  —  Steve  judged  him  not  over  fifteen, 
and  he  was  to  find  many  soldiers  in  camp  younger 
even  than  this  —  pointed  to  a  square  two-story 
house  near  the  center  of  the  town. 

Two  sentries  were  on  guard  outside.  One  of 
these  went  inside  with  the  message  of  Yeager. 

87 


Steve  Yeager 

Presently  he  returned,  relieved  the  American 
of  his  revolver,  and  announced  that  the  general 
would  see  him. 

Pasquale  was  at  breakfast  with  one  of  his 
lieutenants,  a  slender  young  man  with  black 
sleek  hair  who  sat  with  his  back  to  the  door. 
From  the  jBrst  moment  that  his  eyes  fell  upon 
that  lithe,  graceful  figure  the  American  knew 
that  presently  he  would  be  looking  into  the 
face  of  Ramon  Culvera.  A  chill  shudder  passed 
through  him  for  an  instant.  If  the  gambler 
recognized  him  he  was  lost. 

But  as  yet  Culvera  had  not  taken  the  trouble 
to  turn.  He  was  eating  a  banana  indolently  and 
stray  Gringos  did  not  greatly  interest  him. 

"You  want  to  see  me,  senor,"  demanded  Pas- 
quale in  Spanish. 

"I'm  out  of  a  job  —  thought  maybe  you  could 
give  me  something  to  do.  I  met  Tom  Neal.  He 
figured  you  might." 

"In  the  army.?  Do  you  want  to  fight?" 

Pasquale  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  looked 
at  his  guest  from  narrowed  eyes  that  expressed 
intelligent  energy  and  brutality.  He  was  smil- 
ing, but  there  was  something  menacing  even 
about  his  smile.  It  struck  Steve  that  he  was  as 
simple,  as  natural,  and  about  as  hulnane  as  a 
wolf.  He  was  not  tall,  but  there  was  unusual 
breadth  and  depth  to  his  shoulders.  Something 

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Steve  Veager 

of  the  Indian  was  in  the  high  cheekbones  of  his 
rough,  unshaven,  coffee-colored  face.  The  old 
ruffian  looked  what  he  was,  a  terrible  man,  one 
who  could  brush  out  a  human  life  as  lightly  as  he 
did  the  ash  from  his  cigar. 

"I  don't  know.  Perhaps.  Can  you  give  me  a 
commission?" 

"  Hmp ! "  The  beadlike  eyes  of  the  bandit  took 
in  shrewdly  the  competence  of  this  quiet,  brown- 
faced  man.  He  might  be  a  thief  and  a  mur- 
derer, —  very  likely  was  since  he  had  crossed 
the  border  to  join  the  insurgents,  —  but  it  was  a 
safe  bet  that  he  had  the  fighting  edge.  Men  of 
this  particular  stripe  were  needed  to  lick  his 
tattered,  nondescript  recruits  into  shape.  *' Where 
you  from. '^  Who  knows  you .^" 

Culvera  slewed  round  in  his  seat  and  glanced 
at  the  man  standing  behind  his  chair.  The  in- 
difference did  not  fade  out  of  his  eyes. 

"I've  been  with  the  Lunar  Film  Company. 
Before  that  I  was  riding  for  the  Lone  Star  cattle 
outfit,"  answered  Yeager. 

The  younger  Mexican  showed  a  flicker  of 
interest.  "The  Lunar  Film  Company.'^  Do  you 
know  a  man  named  Harrison,  senor?" 

"Yes." 

"And  a  boy  named  Pheelip  Seymour?" 

"I've  just  met  him.  He  does  n't  work  for  the 
company." 

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Steve  Yeager 

Culvera  turned  to  his  chief.  **It  is  this  Phee- 
lip  that  shot  Mendoza,  he  and  another  Gringo." 

Pasquale  nodded,  still  watching  Yeager. 

*'Know  any  military  tactics?"  he  asked. 

"'None  —  except  to  hit  the  other  fellow  first 
3.nd  hit  him  hardest." 

'*  And  to  hit  him  when  he  is  n't  looking.  Those 
three  things  are  all  there  is  to  know  about  war  — 
those  three,  and  to  keep  your  men  fat."  Pas- 
quale's  momentary  grin  faded.  "I'll  give  you  a 
try-out  for  a  week.  If  we  like  each  other  we'll 
talk  turkey  about  a  commission.    Eh,  senor.^" 

*'Go  you  one.  If  we  ain't  suited  we  part  com- 
pany at  the  end  of  a  week." 

The  noted  insurgent  leader  spoke  English  as 
well  as  he  did  Spanish.  Sometimes  he  talked  in 
one  language,  sometimes  in  the  other.  Now  he 
relapsed  into  Spanish  and  asked  Yeager  to  join 
them  at  breakfast. 

The  cowpuncher  sat  down  promptly.    It  had 
been  three  hours  since  he  had  eaten  lightly  and 
he  was  as  hungry  as  a  Yukon  husk3^  He  observed 
that   Culvera's   table   manners   were   nice   and  i 
particular,  whereas  those  of  his  chief,  though  j 
they  ate  off  silver  taken  from  the  home  of  a  Fed- 1 
eral  supporter  during  a  raid,  were  uncouth  in  the! 
extreme.    He  wolfed  his  food,  throwing  it  into  hisj 
mouth  from  knife  or  fork  as  rapidly  as  he  could. 

Glancing  up  from  his  steak,  Steve  observed 

90 


Steve  Yeager 

the  brooding  eye  of  Culvera  upon  him.  Faint 
suspicions,  recollections  too  vague  as  yet  for 
definiteness,  were  beginning  to  stir  in  the  mind 
of  the  man.  He  had  taken  on  the  look  of  wari- 
ness, masked  by  a  surface  smile,  that  his  face 
had  worn  the  night  of  the  shooting. 

Yeager's  talk  flowed  on,  easy,  careless,  unper- 
turbed. His  stories  were  amusing  Pasquale,  and 
the  old  ruffian  had  a  fondness  for  anybody  that 
£Ould  entertain  him.  But  back  of  his  debonair 
gayety  Steve  nursed  a  growing  unease.  He  was 
no  longer  dressed  in  the  outfit  of  a  cowpuncher, 
but  wore  a  gray  street  suit  and  a  Panama  straw 
hat.  Culvera  had  caught  only  a  momentary 
glance  at  him  the  night  they  had  faced  each 
other  revolver  in  hand.  Yet  the  American  was 
morally  convinced  that  given  time  recognition 
would  flash  upon  the  young  Mexican.  Some 
gesture  or  expression  would  betray  him.  Then 
the  fat  would  be  in  the  fire.  And  Steve  —  where 
would  he  be.'^ 

After  breakfast  Yeager  rode  out  with  Pas- 
quale to  review  the  troops.  It  was  an  entirely 
informal  proceeding.  The  youthful  army  was 
happily  engaged  in  loafing  and  in  play.  A  bugle 
blew.  There  was  an  instant  scurry  for  horses. 
They  swung  into  line,  stood  at  attention,  and  at 
a  second  blast  charged  yelling  across  the  plain, 
scrapes  flying  wild. 

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Steve  Yeager 

Pasquale  turned  to  Yeager  with  a  gesture  of  his 
hand.  **They  are  mine,  body  and  soul.  They 
eat,  sleep,  starve,  and  die  at  my  word.  Is  it  not 
so?" 

The  charging  line  had  wheeled  and  was  com- 
ing back  like  the  distant  roll  of  thunder.  '*  Viva 
Pasquale ! "  they  shouted  as  they  galloped.  Steve 
had  a  momentary  qualm  lest  they  charge  over 
him  and  their  chief,  but  the  tough  little  horses 
were  dragged  to  a  halt  five  yards  from  them  in 
a  great  cloud  of  dust.  Bullets  zipped  into  the 
air  in  their  wild  enthusiasm.  Wild  whoops  and 
cheers  increased  the  tumult. 

"Looks  that  way,"  agreed  the  American. 

Returning  to  the  village,  Steve  observed  a 
bunch  of  cattle  a  hundred  yards  from  the  trail. 
A  Mexican  lad,  half  asleep,  was  herding  them. 
Immediately  a  devouring  curiosity  took  hold  of 
the  cowpuncher.  He  wanted  to  see  the  brand 
on  those  cattle.  It  struck  him  that  the  shortest 
way  was  the  quickest.  He  borrowed  the  field- 
glasses  of  Pasquale. 

As  he  lowered  the  glasses  after  looking  through 
them,  Yeager  laughed.  "  Funny  how  things  come 
out.  In  this  country  cattle  are  like  chips  in  a 
poker  game.  They  ain't  got  any  home,  I  reckon." 

"Meaning,  senor.^^"  suggested  the  insurgent 
chief. 

"Meaning  that  less  than  a  week  ago  I  paid  a 

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Steve  Yeager 

perfectly  good  check  of  the  Lunar  Company 
for  that  bunch  of  steers.  We  did  aim  to  use  them 
in  some  roundup  sets,  but  I  expect  you've  got 
another  use  for  them." 

**Si,  senor." 

"Hope  Harrison  held  you  up  for  a  good  price," 
suggested  the  American  casually. 

Pasquale  showed  his  teeth  in  a  grin.  "He  was 
some  anxious  to  unload  in  a  hurry  —  had  to 
take  the  market  he  could  find  handy." 

"Looks  Hke  he  was  afraid  the  goods  might 
spoil  on  his  hands,"  Steve  commented  dryly. 

"Maybeso.  I  did  n't  ask  any  questions  and  he 
did  n't  offer  any  explanations.  Fifteen  gold  on 
the  hoof  was  what  I  agreed  to  pay.  Were  you 
in  on  this  with  Harrison?" 

"I  was  and  I  v/as  n't.  Me,  I  drove  that  bunch 
'most  forty  miles,  then  he  held  me  up  and  took 
the  whole  outfit  from  me." 

Pasquale  saw  he  had  made  a  mistake  and 
promptly  Ued.  "It  was  n't  Harrison  I  got  them 
from  at  all  —  just  wanted  to  see  what  you  'd  say." 

"  Well,  they  did  n't  cost  me  a  red  cent.  You  're 
welcome  to  'em  as  far  as  I'm  concerned.  Slow 
elk  suits  me  fine.  I'll  help  you  eat  them  while 
I'm  here,  and  that  will  be  a  week  anyhow." 

"You're  a  good  sport,  Yeager,  as  you  Gringos 
say.  We '11  get  along  like  brothers.  Not  so?" 

The  revolutionary  chief  was  an  incessant  card- 

93 


Steve  Yeager 

player.  He  had  a  greasy  pack  out  as  soon  as 
they  reached  camp.  Steve  was  invited  to  take 
a  hand,  also  Ramon  Culvera  and  a  fat,  bald- 
headed  Mexican  of  fifty  named  Ochampa.  Cul- 
vera, playing  in  luck,  won  largely  from  his  chief, 
who  accepted  his  run  of  ill  fortune  grouchily, 
Pasquale  had  been  a  peon  in  his  youth,  an  out- 
law for  twenty  years,  and  a  czar  for  three.  He 
was  as  much  the  subject  of  his  own  unbridled 
passions  as  is  a  spoiled  and  tyrannous  child. 
Yeager,  studying  him,  was  careful  to  lose  money 
with  a  laugh  to  the  old  despot  and  equally  care- 
ful to  see  that  the  chips  came  back  to  him  from 
Ochampa's  side  of  the  table. 

The  cowpuncher  knew  fairly  well  the  political 
rumors  that  were  afloat  in  regard  to  the  situation 
in  northern  Mexico.  Pasquale  as  yet  was  dicta- 
tor of  the  revolutionary  forces,  but  there  had 
been  talk  to  the  effect  that  Ramon  Culvera  was 
only  biding  his  time.  Other  ambitious  men  had 
aspired  to  supplant  Pasquale.  They  had  died 
sudden,  violent  deaths.  Ramon  had  been  a  great 
favorite  of  the  dictator,  but  it  was  claimed  signs 
were  not  lacking  to  show  that  a  rupture  between 
them  was  near.  Watching  them  now,  Yeager 
could  well  believe  that  this  might  be  true.  Cul- 
vera was  suave,  adroit,  deferential  as  he  raked 
in  his  chief's  gold,  but  the  irritability  of  the 
older  man  needed  only  an  excuse  to  blaze. 

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Steve  Yeager 

A  blue-denim  trooper  came  into  the  room  and 
stood  at  attention. 

Pasquale  nodded  curtly. 

"Senor  Harrison  to  see  the  general,"  said  the 
private  in  Spanish. 

A  chill  ran  down  the  spine  of  the  American. 
This  was  the  last  place  in  the  world  that  he 
wanted  to  meet  Chad  Harrison.  A  swift  vision 
of  himself  standing  with  his  back  to  a  wall  before 
a  firing  line  flashed  into  his  brain. 

But  he  was  in  for  it  now.  He  knew  that  the 
ex-prizefighter  would  denounce  him.  A  dare- 
devil spirit  of  recklessness  flooded  up  in  his  heart. 
A  smile  both  gay  and  sardonic  danced  in  his 
eyes.  Thus  does  untimely  mirth  in  the  hour  of 
danger  drive  away  a  sober,  prayerful  gravity 
from  the  mien  of  such  light-hearted  sons  of 
nature  as  Stephen  Yeager. 


CHAPTER  X 

A   NIGHT   VISIT 

Harrison  stood  blinking  in  the  doorway, 
having  just  come  out  from  the  untempered  sun- 
light in  the  street.  He  shook  hands  with  the 
general,  with  Culvera,  and  then  his  glance  fell 
upon  the  American. 

"Fine  glad  day,  ain't  it?"  Yeager  opened 
gayly.  "  Great  the  way  friends  meet  in  this  little 
old  world." 

"What  are  you  doing  here?"  demanded  the 
prizefighter,  his  chin  jutting  forward  and  down. 

"Me!  I'm  losing  my  wad  at  stud.  Want  to 
stake  me?" 

Harrison  turned  to  Pasquale.    "Know  who 
he  is?  Know  anything  about  him,  general?" 
.    "Only  what  he  has  told  me,  senor." 

"And  that  is?" 

"That  he  worked  for  the  moving-picture 
company  at  Los  Robles,  that  he  is  out  of  a  job, 
and  that  he  wants  to  try  the  revolutionary  game, 
as  you  Americans  say." 

"Don't  you  believe  it.  Don't  believe  a  word 
of  it,"  broke  out  Harrison  stormily.  "He's  a 
spy.  That's  what  he  is." 

96 


Steve  Yeager 

Smiling,  Steve  cut  in.  "What  have  I  come 
to  spy  about,  Harrison?" 

"You  told  Threewit  that  you  thought  Gen- 
eral Pasquale  had  those  cattle.  You  may  deny 
it,  but  —  " 

"Why  should  I  deny  it?"  Yeager  turned  gen- 
ially to  the  insurgent  chief.  "  You  don't  deny  it, 
do  you,  general?" 

Pasqudle  laughed.  He  liked  the  cheek  of  this 
young  man.  "I  deny  nothing  and  I  admit  noth- 
ing." He  swept  his  hand  around  in  a  gesture  of 
indiflFerence.  "My  vaqueros  herd  cattle  I  have 
bought.  Possibly  rustlers  sold  them  to  me. 
Maybeso.  I  ask  no  questions." 

"Nor  I,"  added  Yeager  promptly.  "At  least, 
not  many.  I  eat  the  beef  and  find  it  good.  You 
ought  to  have  got  a  good  price  for  a  nice  fat 
bunch  like  that,  Harrison." 

"What  d'  you  mean  by  that?  "  The  man's  fists 
were  clenched.   The  rage  was  mounting  in  him. 

"Forget  it,  Harrison!  You've  quit  the  com- 
pany. You  're  across  the  line  and  among  friends. 
No  use  keeping  up  the  blufif.  I  know  who  held 
me  up.  If  I'm  not  hos-tile  about  it,  you  don't 
need  to  be." 

The  prizefighter  flung  at  him  the  word  of  in- 
sult that  no  man  in  the  fighting  West  brooks. 
Before  Steve  could  speak  or  move,  Pasquale 
hammered  the  table  with  his  heavy,  hairy  fist. 

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Steve  Yeager 

"Maldito!"  he  roared.  "Is  it  so  you  talk  to 
my  friends  in  my  own  house,  Sefior  Harrison? '* 

The  rustler,  furious,  turned  on  him.  But  even 
in  his  rage  he  knew  better  than  to  let  his  pas- 
sion go.  The  insurgent  chief  was  more  dangerous 
than  dynamite  in  a  fire.  Purple  with  anger, 
Harrison  choked  back  the  volcanic  eruption. 

''Friend!  I  tell  you  he's  a  spy,  general.  This 
man  killed  Mendoza.  He's  here  to  sell  you 
out." 

The  sleek  black  head  of  Culvera  swung  quickly 
round  till  his  black  eyes  met  the  blue  ones  of 
Yeager.  He  flung  his  hand  straight  out  toward 
the  Anglo-Saxon. 

''Mil  diablos!  What  a  dolt  I  am.  It's  the 
very  man,  and  I've  been  racking  my  brain  to 
think  where  I  met  him  before." 

Yeager  laughed  hardily.  "I've  got  a  better 
memory,  seiior.  Knew  you  the  moment  I  set 
eyes  on  you,  though  it  was  some  smoky  when  we 
last  met." 

Culvera  rose,  his  knuckles  pressing  against 
the  table.  There  was  a  faint  smile  of  triumph,, 
on  his  masked,  immobile  face. 

"Farewell,  Seiior  Yeager,"  he  said  softly. 
"After  all,  it's  a  world  full  of  hardship  and  un- 
pleasantness. You're  well  rid  of  it." 

Steve  knew  his  sole  appeal  lay  in  Pasquale. 
Ochampo  was  a  nonentity.    Both  Harrison  and 

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Steve  Yeager 

Culvera  had  already  condemned  him  to  death. 
He  turned  quietly  to  the  insurgent  leader. 

"How  about  it,  general?  Do  I  get  a  pass  to 
Kingdom  Come  —  because  I  stood  by  a  half- 
grown  kid  when  two  blacklegs  were  robbing  him?  " 

"You  shot  Mendoza,  eh?"  demanded  Pas- 
quale,  his  heavy  brows  knit  in  a  frown. 

"No;  I  helped  the  boy  escape  who  did." 

"You  were  both  employed  by  the  enemy  to 
murder  him  and  Culvera  —  not  so?" 

"Nothing  of  the  sort.  Young  Seymour  was  in 
a  poker  game  with  Culvera  and  Mendoza.  They 
were  cross-lifting  him  —  and  playing  with  a  cold 
deck  at  that.  I  warned  the  kid.  They  began 
shooting.  I  could  have  killed  either  of  them,  but 
I  blew  out  the  lights  instead.  In  self -defense  the 
boy  shot  Mendoza.  We  escaped  through  the 
door.   The  trouble  was  none  of  our  seeking." 

Culvera  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  spread  his 
hands  in  a  gesture  of  bland  denial.  "Lies!  All 
lies,  general.  Have  I  not  already  told  you  the 
truth?" 

Coldly  Pasquale  pronounced  judgment.  "  What 
matter  which  one  shot  Mendoza.  Both  were  fir- 
ing. Both  escaped  together.  Both  are  equally 
guilty."  He  clapped  his  hands.  A  trooper  en- 
tered. "  'Tonio,  get  a  guard  and  take  this  man  to 
prison.  See  that  he  is  kept  safe.  To-morrow  at 
dawn  he  will  be  shot." 


Steve  Yeager 

The  trooper  withdrew.  Pasquale  continued 
evenly.  ''We  have  one  rule,  Senor  Yeager.  He 
who  kills  one  of  us  is  our  enemy.  If  we  capture 
him,  that  man  dies.  Fate  has  shaken  the  dice  and 
they  fall  against  you.  So  be  it.  You  pay  forfeit." 

Yeager  nodded.  He  wasted  no  breath  in  use- 
less protest  against  the  decision  of  this  man  of 
iron.  What  must  be,  must.  A  plea  for  mercy  or 
for  a  reversal  of  judgment  would  be  mere  weak- 
ness. 

"If  that's  the  way  you  play  the  game  there's 
no  use  hollering.  I  '11  take  my  medicine,  because 
I  must.  But  I  '11  just  take  one  little  flyer  of  a 
guess  at  the  future,  general.  If  you  don't  put 
friend  Culvera  out  of  business,  it  will  presently 
be, '  Good-night,  Pasquale.'  He 's  a  right  anxious 
and  ambitious  little  lieutenant,  I  should  n't 
wonder." 

Harrison  triumphed  openly.  He  followed  out 
of  the  house  the  file  of  soldiers  who  took  his 
enemy  away. 

"Told  you  I'd  git  even  a-plenty,  did  n't  I.?" 
he  jeered.  "  Told  you  I  'd  make  you  sweat  blood, 
Mister  Yeager.  Good  enough.  You  '11  see  me  in 
a  box  right  off  the  stage  to-morrow  morning 
when  the  execution  set  is  pulled  off.  Adios,  my 
friend!" 

The  cowpuncher  was  thrust  into  a  one-room, 
flat-roofed  adobe  hut.  The  door  was  locked  and 

100 


Steve  Yeager 

a  guard  set  outside.  The  prison  had  for  furniture 
a  three-legged  stool  and  a  rough,  home-made 
table.  In  one  corner  lay  a  couple  of  blankets 
upon  some  straw  to  serve  for  a  bed.  The  walls  of 
the  house,  probably  a  hundred  years  old  at  least, 
were  of  plain,  unplastered  adobe.  The  fireplace 
was  large,  but  one  glanoe  up  the  narrow  chimney 
proved  the  futility  of  any  hope  of  escape  in  that 
direction. 

He  was  caught,  like  a  rat  in  a  trap.  Yet  some- 
how he  did  not  feel  as  if  it  could  be  true  that  he 
was  to  be  taken  out  at  daybreak  and  shot.  It 
must  be  some  ridiculous  joke  Fate  was  playing  on 
him.   Something  would  turn  up  yet  to  save  him. 

But  as  the  hours  wore  away  the  grim  reality  of 
his  position  came  nearer  home  to  him.  He  had 
only  a  few  hours  left.  From  his  pocket  he  took  a 
notebook  and  a  pencil.  It  was  possible  that  Pas- 
quale  would  let  him  send  a  letter  through  to 
Threewit  if  it  gave  some  natural  explanation  of 
his  death,  one  that  would  relieve  him  of  any  re- 
sponsibility. Steve  tore  out  a  page  and  wrote, 
standing  under  the  little  shaft  of  moonlight  that 
poured  through  the  small  barred  window:  — 

Fifteen  minutes  ago  [so  he  wrote]  I 
accidentally  shot  myself  while  target- 
practicing  here  in  camp.    They  say  I 
won't  live  more  than  a  few  hours.   By 
101 


Steve  Yeager 

tlie  courtesy  of  General  Pasquale  I  am 
getting  a  letter  through  to  you,  which  is 
to  be  sent  after  my  death.  Give  bearer 
ten  dollars  in  gold. 

Say  good-bye  for  me  to  Frank, 
Daisy,  and  the  rest.  Bust  up  that  mar* 
riage  if  you  can, 

Adios,  my  friend. 

Steve  Yeager* 

He  was  searching  in  his  pocket  for  an  envelope 
when  there  came  a  sound  that  held  him  rigid. 
&)me  one  was  very  carefully  unlocking  the  door 
of  his  prison  from  the  outside.  Stealthily  he  drew 
back  into  the  deep  shadow  at  the  farther  end  of 
the  room,  picking  up  noiselessly  by  one  leg  the 
stool  by  the  table.  It  was  possible  that  some  one 
had  been  sent  to  murder  him. 

The  grinding  of  the  key  ceased.  Slowly  the 
door  opened  inch  by  inch.  A  man's  head  was 
thrust  through  the  opening.  After  a  long  time  of 
silence  a  figure  followed  the  head  and  the  door 
was  closed  again. 

''You  may  put  down  that  weapon,  Senor  Yea- 
ger.    I  have  not  come  to  knife  you." 

The  lower  half  of  the  man's  face  was  covered 
by  a  fold  of  his  serape,  the  upper  part  was  shade^j^ 
by  his  sombrero.  Only  the  glittering  eyes  could  be 
plainly  seen^ 

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Steve  Yeager 

"Why  have  you  come?" 

"To  talk  with  you — perhaps  to  save  you. 
Quien  sabe?" 

Yeager  put  down  the  stool  and  gave  it  a  shove 
across  the  floor.  "Will  you  take  a  seat,  general? 
Sorry  I  can't  offer  you  refreshments,  but  the 
truth  is  I'm  not  exactly  master  in  my  own 
house." 

Pasquale  dropped  the  scrape  from  his  face  and 
moved  forward.     "So  you  knew  me?" 

"Yes." 

"How  much  will  you  give  for  your  Hfe?"  de- 
manded the  Mexican  abruptly,  sitting  down  on 
the  stool  with  his  back  to  the  table. 

"As  much  as  any  man." 

The  general  eyed  him  narrowly.  One  sinewy 
brown  hand  caressed  the  butt  of  a  revolver  hang- 
ing at  his  hip. 

"Who  paid  you  to  murder  Culvera  and  Men- 
doza  —  not  Farrugia,  surely?  "  Pasquale  shot  at 
him,  eyes  gleaming  under  shaggy  brows. 

Garcia  Farrugia  was  the  Federal  governor  of 
the  province,  the  general  with  whom  Pasquale 
had  been  fighting  for  a  year. 

"No  —  not  Farrugia." 

The  insurrecto  chief,  sprawling  in  the  moon- 
light with  his  back  against  the  table,  nodded 
decisively. 

"I  thought  as  much.  He's  no  fool.  Garcia 
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Steve  Yeager 

knows  it  would  not  weaken  me  to  lose  both  of 
them,  that  my  grief  would  not  be  inconsolable. 
Who,  then,  if  not  Farrugia?" 

"'Nobody.  I'm  not  an  assassin.  The  story  I 
told  you  is  the  truth,  general." 

"If  that  is  true,  Ramon  Culvera's  lies  have 
brought  you  to  your  death." 

The  Mexican  still  sprawled  with  an  arm  flung 
across  the  table.  Not  a  muscle  of  his  lax  body 
had  grown  more  taut.  But  the  eyes  of  the  man  — 
the  terrible  eyes  that  condemned  men  to  their 
graves  without  a  flicker  of  ruth  —  were  fixed  on 
the  range-rider  with  a  steady  compulsion  filled 
with  hidden  significance. 

"Yes."  Steve  waited,  alert  and  watchful. 
Presently  he  would  understand  what  this  grim, 
virile  old  scoundrel  was  driving  at. 

"You  fought  him  in  the  open.  You  played 
your  cards  above  the  table.  He  comes  back  at 
you  with  a  cold  deck.  Senor,  do  you  love  Ramon 
like  a  brother.^" 

"  Of  course  not.  If  I  could  get  at  him  before  —  " 

The  rigor  of  the  black  eyes  boring  into  those  of 
Yeager  did  not  relax.  The  impact  of  them  was 
like  steel  grinding  on  steel. 

"Yes.^  If  you  could  get  at  him.^  What,  then, 
senor.?" 

The  words  were  hissed  across  the  room  at  the 
American.  Pasquale  was  no  longer  lounging.  He 

104 


•  Steve  Yeager 

leaned  forward,  body  tense  and  rigid.  His  pris- 
oner understood  that  an  offer  for  his  life  was  be- 
ing made  him.  But  what  kind  of  an  offer .^^  Just 
what  wa3  he  to  do.? 

"Say  it  right  out  in  plain  United  States  talk, 
general.     What  is  it  you  want  me  to  do.^^" 

"Would  you  kill  Ramon  Culvera — to  save 
your  own  life.?" 

After  barely  an  instant's  hesitation  Steve  an- 
swered. "Yep.  I'll  fight  him  to  a  finish  —  any 
time,  any  place." 

"  Bueno !  But  there  will  be  no  risk  for  you.  He 
will  be  summoned  from  his  house  to-night.  You 
will  stand  in  the  darkness  outside.  One  thrust  of 
the  knife  and  —  you  will  be  avenged.  A  saddled 
horse  is  waiting  for  you  now  in  the  cottonwood 
grove  opposite.  Before  we  get  the  pursuit  started 
you  will  be  lost  in  the  darkness  miles  away." 

The  heart  of  Yeager  sank.  The  thing  he  was 
being  asked  to  do  was  plain  murder.  Even  to 
save  his  own  life  he  could  not  set  his  hand  to 
such  a  contract. 

"I  can't  do  that,  general.  But  I'll  pick  a 
quarrel  with  him.  I'll  take  a  chance  on  even 
terms." 

"No  —  no!"  Pasquale's  voice  was  harsh  and 
imperative.  "The  dog  is  plotting  my  murder. 
But  first  he  wants  to  make  sure  he  is  strong 
enough  to  succeed  me.    So  he  waits.    But  I  — • 

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Steve  Yeager 

Gabriel  Pasquale  —  I  wait  for  no  man's  knife, 
I  strike  first  —  and  sure.  You  execute  the  traitor 
and  save  your  own  life  which  is  forfeit.  Caramba! 
Are  you  afraid?" 

"Not  afraid,  but  — " 

"You  walk  out  of  that  door  a  free  man.  You 
give  the  password  for  to-night.  It  is  'Gabriel.' 
You  settle  with  the  traitor  and  then  ride  away  to 
safety.  Maldito!  Why  hesitate?" 

"Because  I 'm  a  white  man,  general.  We  don't 
kill  in  the  dark  and  run  away.  When  I  offer  to 
fight  him  to  a  finish  I  go  the  limit  —  and  then 
some.  For  I  don't  hate  Culvera  that  bad.  But  I 
think  a  heap  of  Steve  Yeager's  life,  so  I  '11  stand 
pat  on  my  proposition." 

"Am  I  a  fool,  seiior?"  asked  the  Mexican 
harshly.  "How  do  I  know  you  would  keep  faith, 
that  you  would  not  ride  away  —  what  you  call 
laugh  in  your  sleeve  at  me?  No!  You  will  strike 
under  my  own  eye  —  with  my  revolver  at  your 
heart.     Then  I  make  sure." 

"I'll  bet  you'd  make  sure.  You'd  shoot  me 
down  and  explain  it  all  fine  when  your  men  came 
running.  '^The  Gringo  dog  escaped  and  killed 
my  dear  friend  Ramon,  but  by  good  luck  I  shot 
him  before  he  made  his  getaway.'  Nothing 
doing." 

"Then  you  refuse?  "  Pasquale's  narrowed  eyes 
glittered  in  the  moonshine. 

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Steve  Yeager 

"You're  right  I  do.'* 

The  Mexican  rose.  "Die  like  a  dog,  then,  you 
pigheaded  Gringo." 

"Just  a  moment,  general.  I've  got  a  letter 
here  I  wish  you  'd  send  north  for  me.  It  explains 
that  I  shot  myself  accidentally  —  lets  you  out 
fine  in  case  Uncle  Sam  begins  to  ask  inconvenient 
whys  about  my  disappearance." 

"And  why  so  much  care  to  save  me  trouble.^'* 
inquired  the  insurgent  leader  suspiciously. 

"I  have  to  put  that  in  to  get  you  to  forward 
the  letter,  I  reckon.  What  I  want  is  that  my 
friends  should  know  I'm  dead." 

As  a  soldier  Pasquale  could  understand  that 
desire.  He  hesitated.  The  sudden  death  of 
Americans  had  of  late  stirred  a  good  deal  of  re- 
sentment across  the  Une.  Why  not  take  the  alibi 
Yeager  so  conveniently  offered  him.'* 

"Let 's  see  your  letter.  But  remember  I  prom- 
ise nothing,"  said  the  Mexican  roughly. 

Steve  moved  forward  and  gave  it  to  him.  His 
heart  was  pounding  against  his  ribs  as  does  that 
of  a  frightened  rabbit  in  the  hand.  If  Pasquale 
looked  at  the  letter  now  he  had  a  chance.  If  he 
put  it  in  his  pocket  the  chance  vanished. 

The  rebel  chief  glanced  at  the  sheet  of  paper, 
opened  it,  and  stepped  back  into  the  moonlight. 
For  just  an  instant  his  eyes  left  Yeager  and  fell 
upon  the  paper.  That  moment  belonged  to  Steve, 

lOQT 


Steve  Yeager 

Like  a  tiger  he  leaped  for  the  hairy  throat  of  the 
man. 

Pasquale,  with  a  half -articulate  cry,  stumbled 
back.  But  the  American  was  on  top  of  him,  his 
strong,  brown  fingers  were  tightening  on  the 
sinewy  throat.  They  went  down  together,  the 
Mexican  underneath.  As  he  fell,  the  head  of  the 
general  struck  the  edge  of  the  table.  The  steel 
grip  of  Steve's  hand  did  not  relax,  for  a  single 
sharp  cry  would  mean  death  to  him. 

Just  once  Pasquale  rolled  half  over  before 
his  body  went  slack  and  motionless.  He  had 
fainted. 

The  first  thing  Yeager  did  was  to  take  the  ban- 
danna handkerchief  from  his  neck  and  use  it  as  a 
gag  for  his  prisoner.  He  dragged  the  blankets 
from  their  corner  and  tore  one  of  them  into  strips. 
With  these  he  bound  the  hands  of  Pasquale  be- 
hind him  and  tied  his  feet  together.  He  unloos- 
ened the  revolver  belt  of  the  Mexican  and 
strapped  it  about  his  own  waist.  The  silver- 
trimmed  sombrero  he  put  on  his  head  and  the 
serape  he  flung  round  his  shoulders  and  across 
the  lower  part  of  his  face  in  the  same  way  the 
garment  had  been  worn  by  its  owner. 

Steve  glanced  around  to  see  that  he  had  every- 
thing he  needed. 

"'They 's  no  manner  o'  doubt  but  you  're  taking 
a  big  chancet,  son,"  he  drawled  to  himself  after 

108 


Steve  Yeager 

the  manner  of  an  old  range-rider  he  knew.  "  But 
we  sure  gotta  take  a  long  shot  and  gamble  with 
the  lid  off.  Any  man  who  stops  S.  Yeager  to- 
night is  liable  to  find  him  a  bad  hombre.  So- 
long,  general." 

•  He  opened  the  door  and  stepped  out.  His 
heart  was  jumping  queerly.  The  impulse  was  on 
him  to  cut  across  to  the  cotton  wood  grove  on  the 
dead  run,  but  he  knew  this  would  never  do.  In- 
stead, he  sauntered  easily  into  the  moonlight 
with  the  negligence  of  one  who  has  all  night  be- 
fore his  casual  steps. 

The  sharp  command  of  the  guard  outside 
slackened  his  stride. 

"Gabriel,"  he  called  back  over  his  shoulder 
without  stopping. 

*'Si,  senor.     Buenos  tardes." 

"Buenos." 

He  moved  at  a  leisurely  pace  down  the  street 
until  he  was  opposite  the  cottonwoods.  Here  he 
diverged  from  the  dusty  road. 

"Hope  the  old  scalawag  was  n't  lying  about 
that  cavallo  waiting  for  Steve.  I'm  plumb  scairt 
to  death  till  I  get  out  of  this  here  wolf's  den.  Me, 
I  'm  too  tender  to  monkey  with  any  revolutions. 
I've  knowed  it  happen  frequent  that  a  man  got 
his  roof  blowed  off  for  buttin'  in  where  he  was  n't 
invited."  He  was  still  impersonating  the  old 
cowman  as  a  vent  to  his  excitement,  which  found 

109 


Steve  Yeager 

BO  expr^sion  in  the  cool,  deliberate  motions  of 
his  lithe  body. 

He  found  the  horse  in  the  cottonwoods  as 
Pasquale  had  promised.  Swinging  to  the  saddle, 
he  cantered  down  the  road  to  the  outskirts  of 
the  village.  A  sentinel  stopped  him,  and  a  sec- 
ond time  he  gave  the  countersign.  He  was  just 
moving  forward  again  when  some  one  emerged 
from  the  darkness  back  of  the  sentry  and  sharply 
called  to  him  to  stop. 

Steve  knew  that  voice,  would  have  known  it 
among  a  thousand.  Since  he  had  no  desire  at 
this  moment  to  hold  a  conversation  with  Ramon 
Culvera  he  drove  his  heels  into  the  side  of  the 
cow  pony.  The  horse  leaped  forward  just  as  a 
revolver  rang  out.  So  close  did  the  shot  come 
to  Yeager  that  it  lifted  the  sombrero  from  his 
head  as  he  dodged. 

After  he  was  out  of  range  Yeager  laughed. 
"Pasquale  gets  his  hat  back  again  —  ventilated. 
Oh,  well,  it's  bad  enough  to  be  a  horsethief  with- 
out burglarizing  a  man's  haberdashery.  You're 
sure  welcome  to  it,  Gabriel." 

He  kept  the  horse  at  a  gallop,  for  he  knew  he 
would  be  pursued.  But  his  heart  was  lifted  in 
him,  for  he  was  leaving  behind  him  a  shameful 
death.  All  Sonora  lay  before  him  in  which  to 
hide,  and  in  front  of  him  stretched  a  distant  line 
beyond  which  was  the  U.S.A.  and  safety. 

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Steve  Yeager 

The  bench  upon  which  he  was  riding  dropped 
to  a  long  roll  of  hills  stretching  to  the  horizon. 
The  chances  v/ere  a  hundred  to  one  that  among 
these  he  would  be  securely  hidden  from  the  pur- 
suit inside  of  an  hour. 

"Git  down  in  yore  collar  to  it,  you  buckskin/* 
ke  urged  his  pony  cheerfully.  "This  ain't  no 
time  to  dream.  You  got  to  travel  some,  beUere 
me.  Steve  played  a  bum  hand  for  all  it  was  worth 
and  I  can  see  where  he's  right  to  hit  the  grit 
som.e  lively.  Burn  the  wind,  you  buzzard-haid.*' 

An  hour  later  he  drew  his  pony  to  a  road  gait 
and  lifted  his  head  to  the  first  faint  flush  of  a 
dawning  day.  He  sang  softly,  because  by  a  mu'- 
acle  of  good  fortune  that  coming  sun  brought  him 
life  and  not  death.  The  song  he  caroled  was, 
"When  Gabriel  blows  his  horn  in  the  mawnin'/' 


CHAPTER  XI 

CHAD   DECIDES   TO   GET   BUSY 

Aftbe  his  failure  to  stop  Yeager's  escape,  Gul- 
vera  lost  no  time  before  starting  a  party  in  pursuit. 
He  knew  there  was  small  chance  of  finding  the 
American  in  that  rolling  sea  of  hills,  but  there 
was  at  least  no  harm  in  making  the  attempt. 

As  he  walked  to  Pasquale's  headquarters  t© 
make  a  report  of  the  affair,  Culvera's  mind  was 
full  of  vague  suspicions.  How  had  this  man  es- 
caped? Had  the  old  general  freed  him  for  sonae 
purpose  of  his  own?  Ramon  had  seen  condemned 
prisoners  released  by  his  chief  before.  Always 
within  a  short  time  some  enemy  or  doubtful 
friend  of  Pasquale  had  died  a  violent  death.  Was 
it  his  turn  now?  Could  it  be  that  Pasquale  was 
anticipating  his  treachery? 

To  learn  that  the  general  was  out  at  three 
o'clock  in  the  morning  lent  no  reassurance  to 
his  fears.  After  a  moment's  consideration  the 
young  man  turned  his  steps  toward  the  house 
where  Yeager  had  been  confined.  But  before 
starting  he  stopped  in  the  shadow  of  a  bam  to 
see  that  his  revolvers  were  loose  in  the  scabbards 
and  in  good  working  order.  Nor  did  he  cross 
the  moonlit  open  direct,  but  worked  to  his  des- 


Steve  Yeager 

tination  by  a  series  of  tacks  that  kept  him  almost 
all  the  time  in  the  darkness. 

The  seventeen-year-old  sentry  was  still  doing 
duty  outside  the  prison.  At  sight  of  Culvera  he 
stopped  rolling  a  cigarette  to  snatch  up  his  rifle 
and  fling  a  challenge  at  him. 

**How  is  it  that  you  have  let  your  prisoner 
eseape?"  demanded  the  officer  in  Spanish  after 
he  had  given  the  countersign. 

"Escape.^  No,  senor.  Listen.  Do  you  not 
hear  him  move?"  repUed  in  the  boy  in  the  same 
tongue.  **  I  think  the  Gringo  is  having  a  fit.  For 
ten  —  twenty  —  minutes  he  has  beat  on  the  floor 
and  kicked  at  the  walls.  To  die  at  daybreak  is 
not  to  his  liking." 

"Mil  diablos!  I  tell  you  I  saw  him  ride  away. 
It  is  some  one  else  in  there." 

*'Some  one  else!  But,  no  — that  is  impossible. 
Who  else  could  it  be?"  As  he  asked  the  ques- 
tion the  boy's  jaw  fell  slack.  A  horrible  suspicion 
pushed  itself  into  his  mind. 

"Estupido!"  he  continued  in  growing  terror. 
*'Caii  it  be  —  the  general?" 

"We  shall  see." 

Culvera  stepped  to  the  door.  It  was  locked 
and  the  key  gone.  He  called  aloud.  His  only 
answer  was  a  strange,  muffled  sound  like  a  groan 
and  the  beating  of  feet  upon  the  floor. 

With  the  butt  of  the  sentry's  rifle  he  ham- 
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Steve  Yeager 

naered  in  the  door  at  the  lock  and  by  exerting 
all  hia  strength  forced  the  fastening.  Lying  in 
the  middle  of  the  room,  bound  hand  and  foot, 
with  his  furious  face  upturned  to  the  moonlight, 
was  Gabriel  Pasquale.  Culvera  asked  no  foolish 
questions,  wasted  no  time.  Kneeling  beside  his 
superior  officer,  he  cut  the  handkerchief  that 
gagged  him  and  the  ropes  that  tied  his  limbs. 
Together  Ramon  and  the  guard  lifted  him  to 
Lis  feet  and  held  him  for  a  moment  until  his  legs 
regained  their  power. 

*'What  devil  has  done  this  outrage.'^"  asked 
Ramon. 

For  a  time  Pasquale  could  only  swallow  and 
grunt.  When  the  power  of  speech  returned,  he 
broke  into  fierce  and  terrible  maledictions.  His 
lieutenant  listened  in  silence,  extreme  concern 
in  his  respectful  face,  an  unholy  amusement  bub- 
bling up  behind  the  deferential  exterior. 

"'Then  it  was  the  Gringo?"  he  asked  when  his 
chief  ran  out  of  breath  and  for  the  moment 
ceased  cursing. 

The  insurgent  leader  went  off  into  another  ex- 
plosion of  rage.  He  would  cut  his  heart  out 
while  the  American  devil  was  still  alive.  He 
would  stake  him  out  on  the  desert  to  broil  to 
death  beneath  a  Mexican  sun. 

Culvera  showed  the  hat  that  he  had  punc- 
tured with  his  bullet.    "Thus  near  I  came  to 

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Steve  Yeager 

avenging  you,  general.  See!  One  inch  lower  and 
I  would  have  taken  off  the  top  of  his  head.  Al- 
ready Fuentes  is  pursuing  him.  Perhaps  this 
Yeager  may  be  dragged  back  to  justice." 

Culvera  asked  no  questions  as  to  why  the 
general  was  alone  with  a  condemned  man  at 
such  an  hour  nor  as  to  how  the  American  had 
succeeded  in  overpowering  him.  He  understood 
that  his  chief's  wounded  vanity  was  torturing 
the  man  enough  to  render  curiosity  unsafe.  But 
the  boyish  sentry  did  not  know  this.  He  ven- 
tured on  a  sympathetic  question. 

"But,  senor.  Your  Excellency,  how  did  this 
Gringo  devil,  who  was  unarmed,  take  away  your 
revolver  and  tie  you?" 

Pasquale,  teeth  clenched,  whirled  upon  hint, 
"  You  —  dog  of  a  peon  —  let  your  prisoner  walk 
away  without  a  challenge  and  then  dare  to 
question  me/" 

The  old  soldier's  fist  shot  out  like  a  pile- 
driver.  The  blow  lifted  the  boy  from  his  feet  and 
flung  him  like  a  sack  of  meal  against  the  walL 
His  body  hung  there  a  moment,  then  dropped 
to  the  ground.  A  faint  groan  was  the  only  sound 
that  showed  he  was  not  unconscious. 

The  general  strode  from  the  room,  Culvera  at 
his  heels.  The  brown  mask  of  his  face  told  no 
stories  of  how  the  younger  man  was  enjoying 
himself. 

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Steve  Yeager 

Before  he  slept,  Ramon  had  one  more  pleas- 
ant task  before  him.  He  roused  Harrison  to  tell 
him  the  news.  He  sat  smiling  on  the  foot  of  the 
bed,  his  eyes  mocking  the  startled  face  of  the 
prizefighter. 

"I  come  to  bring  you  good  news,  senor,"  he 
jeered.   "Your  countryman  has  escaped.'* 

Harrison  sat  up  in  bed.  '* What's  that?  Es- 
caped, did  you  say.^^  Where  to.^^" 

The  Mexican  swept  one  arm  around  airily. 
"How  should  I  know?  He's  gone  —  broke  out. 
He's  taken  a  horse  with  him." 

"A  horse!"  repeated  Harrison  stupidly. 

"Just  so  —  a  horse.  To  ride  upon,  doubtless, 
since  he  was  in  somewhat  of  a  hurry.  Odd  that 
a  horse  happened  to  be  waiting  saddled  for  him 
at  two  in  the  morning.  Not  so?" 

The  American  groped  toward  the  point. 
"You  mean  —  that  he  had  friends,  that  some 
one  helped  him  to  get  away?" 

The  other  man  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "Do 
I?  Quien  sabe?  Anyhow,  he's  gone.  Must  be 
very  disappointing  to  you,  since  you  had  prom- 
ised yourself  to  see  his  translation  to  heaven  at 
sunrise." 

Harrison  expressed  himself  bitterly  in  lan- 
guage emphatic  and  profane. 

Meanwhile  Culvera  smiled  pleasantly  and 
sympathetically.    "You  run  Pasquale  a  close 

116 


Steve  Yeager 

second.  He  cursed  the  roof  oflf  when  he  found 
breath." 

"I'm  not  through  with  Yeager  yet.  Believe 
me,  he'll  have  one  heluvatime  before  I'm  done," 
boasted  the  prizefighter  savagely. 

"You're  still  in  entire  accord  with  the  chief. 
Yet  our  friend  the  Gringo  rides  away  in  safety 
and  laughs  at  you  both.  Ramon  Culvera  takes 
his  hat  off  to  Senor  Yeager.  He  has  played  a 
winning  game  with  courage  and  brains." 

"I  beat  his  fool  head  off  when  he  joined  the 
Lunar  Company  —  the  very  day  he  joined. 
When  I  meet  up  with  him  again,  I'll  repeat," 
Harrison  bragged,  hammering  the  pillow  with 
his  clenched  fist. 

The  Mexican  looked  politely  incredulous. 
"Maybeso.  This  I  say  only.  Yeager  has  played 
one  game  with  Pasquale,  one  with  you,  and  one 
with  me.  He  comes  out  best  each  time.  Of  a 
sureness  he  is  a  strong  man,  wise,  cool,  resource- 
ful. Is  it  not  so?" 

The  prizefighter  sputtered  with  wounded  van- 
ity. "Him!  The  boob's  nothing  but  a  lucky- 
guy.  You'd  ought  to  'a'  seen  him  after  I  fixed 
his  map  that  first  day.  Down  and  out  he  was, 
take  my  word  for  it." 

"If  Senor  Harrison  says  so,"  assented  Cul- 
vera with  polite  mockery.  "But  as  you  say,  he 
laughs  best  who  laughs  last.   And  that  reminds 

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Steve  Yeager 

me.  He  left  a  note  to  be  forwarded  a  friend 
Pasquale  was  too  crazy  mad  to  see  it,  so  I  put 
it  in  my  pocket. " 

He  handed  to  the  other  man  the  note  Steve 
had  written  for  Threewit.  The  prizefighter  read 
it  in  the  dim  Kght  laboriously. 

**It  was  written,  you  perceive,  before  Pasquale 
Aoved  his  big  head  into  a  trap  and  gave  him  a 
chance  to  escape,"  explained  the  insurgent  officer. 

As  Harrison  read,  certain  phases  of  the  situa- 
tion arranged  themselves  before  his  dull  mind. 
He  was  acutely  disappointed  at  the  escape  of 
his  enemy,  since  it  was  not  likely  the  man  would 
ever  be  caught  again  so  neatly.  But  now  he 
forced  himself  to  look  beyond  this  to  the  conse- 
quences. Yeager  would  tell  all  he  knew  when  he 
reached  Los  Robles.  With  the  troopers  warned 
against  him  Harrison  knew  he  could  no  longer 
move  to  and  fro  as  freely  on  the  American  side. 
The  very  fact  that  he  was  a  suspect  would 
greatly  hamper  his  dealings.  The  Seymours 
wotdd  probably  turn  against  him  for  betraying 
the  man  who  had  risked  his  life  to  save  Phil  from 
the  effects  of  his  folly.  And  what  about  Ruth.? 
He  knew  he  held  her  by  fear  of  trouble  to  Phil 
and  by  means  of  a  sort  of  magnetic  clamp  he 
had  always  imposed  upon  her  will.  Would  she 
throw  him  over  now  after  she  heard  the  story  of 
the  cowpuncher.'^ 

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Steve  Yeager 

His  eyes  were  still  fastened  sulkily  on  tlie 
note  while  he  was  slowly  realizing  these  things. 
One  line  seemed  to  stand  out  from  the  rest. 

Bust  up  that  marriage  if  you  can, 

Harrison  ground  his  teeth  with  impotent  rage. 
This  range-rider  always  had  interfered  with  his 
affairs  from  the  first  moment  he  had  met  him. 
If  ever  he  got  the  chance  again  to  stamp  him 
out  — !  The  strong  fingers  of  the  man  worked 
with  the  nervous  longing  to  tighten  on  the  throat 
of  the  gay  youth  who  had  worsted  him  in  the 
duel  the  prizefighter  had  forced  upon  him.  The 
cowpuncher  had  introduced  himself  by  knock- 
ing him  down.  A  few  hours  later  he  had  turned 
a  bruised  and  bleeding  face  up  to  him  and 
laughed  without  fear  as  if  it  were  of  no  conse- 
quence. 

Yeager  had  stolen  from  him  his  reputation 
as  a  daring  rider  and  a  good  shot.  He  had 
driven  him  from  the  Lunar  Company.  Now  he 
was  going  back  to  spoil  his  plans  for  making 
money  by  rustling  American  stock  and  sending 
contraband  goods  across  the  line.  Not  only  that; 
he  was  going  to  take  from  him  the  girl  he  was 
engaged  to  marry. 

"  By  God !  I  '11  give  him  a  run  for  it,"  the  prize* 
fighter  announced  savagely  and  suddenly. 

"For  what?"  asked  Cuivera  maliciously. 
119 


Steve  Yeager 

"My  business,"  retorted  Harrison  harshly, 
reaching  for  his  clothes. 

Half  an  hour  later  he  was  galloping  toward 
the  north.  If  he  could  reach  Los  Robles  before 
Yeager  did,  he  would  turn  a  trick  that  would 
still  leave  the  odds  in  his  favor. 


CHAPTER  Xn 

INTO  THE  DESERT 

Ruth  was  baking  apple  pies  in  the  kitch^i. 
In  her  eyes  there  was  a  smile  and  there  were 
Uttle  dimples  near  the  corners  of  her  mouth. 
Evidently  she  was  thinking  of  something  pleas- 
ant. Her  nimble  fingers  ran  around  the  edge  of 
the  upper  crust  with  a  fork  and  scalloped  a  de- 
sign. At  odd  moments  she  would  burst  into  a 
little  rhapsody  of  song  that  appeared  to  bubble 
out  of  her  heart. 

Some  one  stepped  into  the  doorway  and  shut 
out  the  sunlight.  Her  questioning  glance  lifted, 
to  meet  the  heavy  frown  of  the  man  to  whom 
she  was  engaged.  At  sight  of  him  the  sunshine 
was  extinguished  from  her  face,  just  as  it  had 
seemed  to  be  from  the  room  when  his  broad 
shoulders  had  filled  the  opening. 
I     "You  — Chad!  "she  cried.   "I  thought—" 

"  Well,  I  ain't.  I  'm  here,"  he  broke  in  roughly. 
"And  you  don't  look  glad  to  death  to  see  me 
either." 

Her  gentle  eyes  reproached  him.  "You're 
always  welcome.   You  know  that." 

His  harsh  face  softened  a  little  as  he  stepped 
forward  and  kissed  her.  "Maybe  I  do,  but  may- 

121 


Steve  Yeager 

be  I  like  to  hear  you  say  so.  Girl,  I've  come  to 
take  you  with  me." 

"Withyou.'^  Where?"  Alarm  was  in  the  eyes 
that  flashed  to  meet  his. 

"To  Noche  Buena." 

"But  — what  for.?" 

"Ain't  it  reason  enough  that  I  want  you  to  go? 
We  can  get  married  at  Arixico  to-night." 

She  broke  into  protest  disjointed  and  a  little 
incoherent.  "You  promised  me  that  —  that 
I  could  have  all  the  time  I  wanted.  You  said 
—  you  said  — " 

"That  was  when  I  was  here  to  look  after  you. 
But  I'll  be  staying  in  Sonora  quite  a  while  the 
way  my  business  affairs  look.  I  need  you  —  and 
what's  the  sense  of  waiting,  anyhow .f^" 

"No  —  no!  I  don't  want  to  —  not  now. 
Please  don't  ask  it,  Chad.  I  —  I  don't  want  to 
get  married  —  yet." 

Sobs  began  to  choke  up  her  voice.  Tears 
welled  up  in  her  eyes. 

"I  don't  see  why  you  don't,"  he  insisted  sul 
lenly.   "Ain't  trying  to  back  out,  are  you.?" 

"No,  but—" 

"You  better  not,"  he  retorted  with  a  threat 
ening  look.  "I  ain't  the  kind  of  man  it's  safe  tc 
jilt." 

"You  promised  me  all  the  time  I  wanted,"  she 
repeated.   "You  would  n't  hurry  me.  That  was 


Steve  Yeager 

what  you  said,"  she  sobbed,  breaking  down 
suddenly. 

"All  right,"  he  conceded  ungraciously.  "I'm 
not  forcing  you  to  marry  me  now.  But  I  thought 
it  best,  seeing  as  I've  got  to  ask  you  to  go  with 
me,  anyhow.  O'  course  I  can  put  you  in  charge 
of  Carmen  to  chaperon  you.  She's  the  woman 
that  keeps  house  for  Pasquale.  But  it  kinder 
seemed  to  me  it  would  be  better  if  you  went  as 
my  wife.  Then  I  could  take  care  of  you." 

"Go  with  you  —  now?  What  do  you  mean, 
Chad?" 

"It's  this  fellow  Yeager.  He's  shot  himself, 
and  he  wants  to  see  you  before  he  dies."  From 
his  pocket  he  took  the  note  Steve  had  written 
to  Threewit  and  handed  it  to  Ruth.  "You  don't 
have  to  go,  but  I  hate  to  turn  down  a  fellow 
when  he 's  all  in  and  ready  to  quit  the  game." 

She  read  the  note,  her  face  like  chalk.  Not  for 
a  moment  did  she  doubt  that  the  cowpuncher 
had  written  it.  Even  if  her  mind  had  harbored 
any  vague  suspicions  one  line  in  the  letter  would 
have  swept  them  away.  Bust  up  that  marriage 
if  you  can.  She  knew  to  what  marriage  he  re- 
ferred. Nobody  but  Yeager  could  have  written 
those  words. 

"But  he  says  —  he  says"  —  her  voice  shook, 
but  she  forced  herself  to  go  on  —  "that  this 
letter  is  n't  to  be  sent  until  his  death." 


Steve  Yeager 

"Yep.  So  it  does.  But  he  got  to  asking  for 
you.  So  I  just  lit  out  to  give  you  a  chance  to  go 
if  you  want  to.  It's  up  to  you.  Do  just  as  you 
please." 

"Of  course  I'll  go.  Is  he  —  is  he  as  bad  as  he 
says; 

"Pretty  bad,  the  doc  says.  But  I  reckon 
he's  good  for  a  day  or  two.  My  advice  would 
be  to  start  right  away,  though,  if  you  want  to 
see  him  alive." 

"Yes.  That  would  be  best.  I'll  see  mother 
now."  She  stopped  at  the  door  and  leaned 
against  the  jamb  a  little  faintly,  then  turned 
toward  him.  "It  was  jBne  of  you  to  come,  Chad. 
I  know  you  don't  like  him.  But  —  I  won't  for- 
get." 

"Oh,  tha's  all  right,"  he  mumbled. 

"Have  you  seen  Mr.  Threewit  yet.f^"  she 
asked. 

"Threewit  —  no."  He  was  for  a  moment  puz- 
zled at  her  question.  "No  —  he's  out  getting  a 
set  somewheres  in  the  hills." 

Ruth  came  back  and  took  the  note  from  Har- 
rison's reluctant  fingers.  "He  ought  to  get  this 
at  once.  I  '11  send  Billie  Brown  out  with  it.  He  '11 
explain  to  Mr.  Threewit  about  us  going  on  ahead 
and  not  waiting  for  him." 

The  prizefighter  did  not  quite  like  the  idea.  He 
would  rather  have  kept  the  note  himself  and 

124 


Steve  Yeager 

burnt  it  later.  But  it  was  out  of  his  charge  now. 
Without  stirring  doubts  he  could  not  make  any 
objection.  Anyhow,  he  would  be  in  Sonora  and 
safely  married  to  Ruth  long  before  the  deception 
was  discovered. 

Mrs.  Seymour  made  her  protest  against  such 
an  unconventional  trip,  but  Ruth  rode  her  ob- 
jections down  after  the  fashion  of  American  girls. 

"Why  can't  I  go  for  a  ride  with  the  man  to 
whom  I'm  engaged?  What's  wrong  with  it? 
I  '11  stay  with  the  lady  that  keeps  house  for  Gen- 
eral Pasquale.  In  two  or  three  days  I  '11  be  back. 
Don't  say  no,  mommsie."  Her  voice  broke  a  lit- 
tle as  she  pleaded  the  cause.  "  He 's  dying  — Mr. 
Yeager  is  —  and  he  wants  to  see  me.  I  'd  always 
blame  myself  if  I  did  n't  go.  I  've  just  got  to  go." 

"I  don't  see  why  you  have  to  go  riding  all  over 
the  country  to  see  one  man  when  you  're  engaged 
to  another.   In  my  time  — " 

"If  Chad  does  n't  object,  why  should  you?" 

"Oh,  I  know  you'll  go.  I  suppose  it's  all 
right,  but  I  wish  Phil  could  go  with  you  too." 

"So  do  I,  but  of  course  he  can't.  Chad  says 
that  affairs  are  so  disturbed  across  the  line  that 
probably  the  Government  won't  make  Phil  any 
trouble,  but  that  if  he  showed  himself  in  Sonora 
some  of  the  friends  of  that  man  Mendoza  would 
be  sure  to  kill  him." 

"I  suppose  so."  Mrs.  Seymour  sighed.  Her 
125 


Steve  Yeager 

harum-scarum  young  son  was  on  her  mind  a  good 
deal.  "Now,  don't  you  fret,  honey,  about  Steve 
Yeager.  He's  the  kind  of  man  that  will  take  a 
lot  of  killing.  A  man  who  has  lived  outdoors  in 
the  saddle  for  a  dozen  years  is  liable  to  get  over 
a  wound  that  would  finish  some  one  else." 

In  his  haste  to  reach  Los  Robles  before  Yeager 
the  prizefighter  had  ruined  the  horse  he  rode.  He 
picked  up  another  one  cheap  and  got  for  Ruth  her 
brother's  pony.  Within  an  hour  of  his  arrival  the 
two  animals  were  brought  round  for  the  start. 

The  mother,  still  a  little  troubled  in  her  mind, 
took  Harrison  aside  for  a  last  word. 

"Chad  Harrison,  you  look  after  my  little  girl 
and  see  no  harm  comes  to  her.  If  anything  hap- 
pens to  her  I'll  never  forgive  you." 

"Rest  easy  about  that,  Mrs.  Seymour.  You 
don't  think  any  more  of  Ruth  than  I  do.  If  I 
thought  there  was  any  danger  I  sure  would  n't 
take  her.  She'll  come  back  to  you  safe  and 
sound,"  he  promised. 

They  rode  away  in  the  afternoon  sunlight  to- 
ward the  south.  It  had  been  understood  that 
they  were  to  spend  the  night  at  the  Lazy  B 
Ranch,  but  at  the  point  where  the  road  for  the 
ranch  deflected  from  the  main  pike  Harrison 
drew  rein. 

"  Too  bad  there  is  n't  another  ranch  farther  on. 
It's  a  little  better  than  six  o'clock  now.    We'll 

126 


Steve  Yeager 

lose  a  heap  of  time  by  stopping  here.  Soon  the 
moon  will  be  out  and  we  could  keep  going  till  we 
reach  Lone  Tree  Spring.  Stopping  there  for  two 
or  three  hours'  rest,  we  could  ride  in  to  Noche 
Buena  by  breakfast  time.  But  I  reckon  you're 
tired,  ain't  you.?" 

"I'm  not  —  not  a  bit,"  she  answered  eagerly. 
** Let's  go  on.  It's  cooler  traveling  in  the  even- 
ing, anyhow." 

He  appeared  to  hesitate,  then  shook  his  head. 
"No  —  o,  I  expect  that  would  n't  be  proper.  If 
you  was  a  boy  instead  of  a  girl  I'd  say  sure." 

"  Don't  let 's  be  silly,  Chad,"  she  pleaded.  "  We 
want  to  get  there  as  soon  as  we  can.  It  makes  no 
diflference  if  I  am  a  girl." 

"I  promised  your  maw  I'd  take  good  care  of 
you.  Would  it  be  doing  that  to  let  you  stay  up 
*most  all  night.?" 

"Of  course  it  would.  We  can  sleep  some  at 
Lone  Tree.     I  want  to  go  on,  Chad." 

"All  right,"  he  conceded  with  a  manner  of  re- 
luctance. 

This  was  what  Harrison  desired.  If  Yeager 
reached  Los  Robles  before  night  a  search  party 
would  be  sent  out.  It  would  go  straight  toward 
the  Lazy  B.  Chad  wanted  to  get  across  the  line 
and  put  as  many  miles  as  possible  between  him 
and  the  pursuit. 

Deep  into  the  desert  they  struck,  keeping  for 
127 


Steve  Yeager 

the  most  part  to  a  rapid  road  gait.  The  dusty 
miles  spun  out  behind  them  as  they  covered  white 
sunbaked  levels,  cut  across  rough  hillsides  of 
rubble,  dipped  into  sandy  washes,  and  wound 
forward  through  wastes  of  cactus  and  zacaton. 

By  the  time  the  moon  was  riding  high  in  the 
heavens  Ruth  was  very  tired.  Her  shoulders 
drooped  and  she  clung  to  the  pommel  of  the  sad- 
dle. But  she  did  not  ask  Chad  to  stop  and  let 
her  rest.  She  would  rather  have  been  whipped 
than  have  confessed  exhaustion.  Whenever  she 
thought  he  might  be  looking  at  her,  the  weary 
shoulders  straightened  with  a  pathetic  attempt 
at  jauntiness. 

The  man  knew  how  completely  fagged  she  was. 
Riding  behind  her  through  the  silver  night,  his 
greedy  eyes  noted  her  game  struggle  not  to  give 
in.  He  saw  the  flowing  lines  of  the  girlish  figure 
relax  with  fatigue.  No  longer  was  the  gallant 
little  dusky  head  poised  lightly  above  the  flat 
straight  back.  But  he  made  no  offer  to  rest.  It 
was  essential  that  they  should  get  beyond  any 
chance  of  capture  by  her  friends.  Once  he  had 
her  safely  in  his  hands  she  might  sleep  round  the 
clock  undisturbed. 

It  was  midnight  before  they  rode  into  the  cot- 
tonwoods  of  Lone  Tree  Spring.  Chad  lifted  her, 
stiff  and  cold  from  lack  of  circulation,  to  the 
ground.     She   clung   to   his  coat    sleeve  for  a 

128 


Steve  Yeager   . 

moment  dizzily  before  she  limped  forward  to  the 
live-oak  that  gave  the  place  its  name.  The  girl 
sank  down  beside  the  water-hole  with  her  back 
to  the  trunk  of  the  tree. 

There  was  faint,  humorous  apology  in  the  tired 
smile  she  lifted  to  the  man. 

"I  guess  I'm  what  the  boys  call  a  quitter, 
Chad,"  she  decided. 

**You're  a  game  little  thoroughbred,"  he 
blurted  out.  **You're  all  in.  That's  what's  the 
matter  with  you.  Never  mind,  little  girl.  I '11  fix 
the  tarps  so  as  you  can  get  some  sleep.  When 
you  wake  you'll  be  good  as  ever." 

**  Don't  let  me  sleep  too  long.  Perhaps  I  'd  bet- 
ter just  rest." 

"No;  take  a  couple  of  hours'  sleep.  I'll  wake 
you  when  it's  time  to  go." 

He  brought  the  saddle  blankets,  spread  them 
on  the  ground,  and  covered  them  with  his  slicker. 
His  coat  served  for  a  pillow.  Above  her  he  spread 
a  tarp  and  tucked  the  edges  under. 

"You're  good  to  me,  Chad,"  she  told  him  with 
a  sleepy  little  smile. 

"  I  aim  to  be."  He  stooped  and  kissed  her  with 
a  sudden  passionate  impulse. 

Startled  at  his  roughness,  she  drew  back. 
"Don't.  .  .please!" 

He  rose  abruptly.  "Go  to  sleep,"  was  his 
harsh  conamand. 

129 


Steve  Yeager 

A  vague  uneasiness  that  was  almost  fear 
stirred  in  her  mind.  She  did  not  know  this  man 
at  all.  Except  for  the  merest  surface  common- 
places he  was  a  stranger  to  her.  Yet  she  had 
promised  to  give  her  life  into  his  keeping.  They 
were  alone  together  in  this  moonlit  night  of  stars, 
a  thousand  miles  from  all  the  safeguards  that 
had  always  hedged  her  soft  youth.  After  she  had 
married  him  they  would  always  be  together. 
Even  her  mother  and  Phil  would  be  outsiders.  So 
would  all  her  friends  —  Daisy  Ellington  and 
Frank  Farrar  .  .  .  and  Steve  Yeager  if  he  lived. 
And  he  must  live.  She  affirmed  that  passion- 
ately, clung  to  the  thought  of  it  as  a  drowning 
man  does  to  a  plank.  He  would  get  well  —  of 
course  he  would  .  .  . 

And  so  she  fell  asleep. 


CHAPTER  Xin 

THE   NIGHT   TRAIL 

Yeager  rode  into  Los  Robles  an  hour  after 
Harrison  and  Ruth  had  left.  He  turned  in  at  the 
Lunar  stables  the  pony  Pasquale  had  so  kindly 
donated  to  his  use  and  walked  across  town  to  the 
Seymour  bungalow.  Passing  through  the  gar- 
den and  round  the  house,  he  disappeared  without 
being  seen  into  the  remodeled  barn  where  he 
lodged. 

He  felt  bully.  After  an  adventure  that  had 
been  a  close  call  he  was  back  home  among  friends 
who  would  be  glad  to  see  him.  As  he  took  his 
bath  and  shaved  and  dressed  he  broke  occasion- 
ally into  a  whistle  of  sheer  exuberant  joy  of  life. 
He  intended  to  surprise  the  folks  by  walking 
down  and  taking  his  place  with  the  others  when 
the  dinner  bell  rang.  Daisy  Ellington  would  clap 
her  hands  and  sparkle  in  her  enthusiastic  way. 
Shorty  would  begin  to  poke  fun  at  him.  Mrs. 
Seymour  would  probably  just  smile  in  her  slow, 
motherly  fashion  and  see  that  he  got  one  of  the 
choice  steaks.  And  Ruth  —  would  she  flash  at 
him  her  swift  dimpled  smile  of  pleasure  .^^  Or 
would  she  still  be  harboring  malice  toward  him 
for  having  warned  her  against  Harrison? 

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Steve  Yeager 

Steve  waited  until  he  thought  they  would  be 
seated  before  he  opened  the  door  and  stepped  into 
the  dining-room.  The  effect  was  not  at  all  what 
he  had  expected.  Daisy  was  the  first  to  see  him. 
She  dropped  her  knife  on  the  plate  with  a  clatter 
and  gave  a  little  scream.  Shorty  stopped  a  spoon- 
ful of  soup  halfway  to  his  mouth,  as  if  he  were 
waiting  to  have  a  still  picture  of  himself  taken. 
His  eyes  stared  and  his  jaw  fell.  Mrs.  Seymour, 
who  was  bringing  a  platter  from  the  kitchen, 
stood  stock-still  in  the  doorway.  The  expression 
on  her  face  arrested  Yeager's  smile. 

"What's  the  matter  with  you  all.^  Looks  like 
you  were  seeing  a  ghost,"  he  said. 

"Where  did  you  come  from,  Steve  Yeager.'^'* 
demanded  Mrs.  Seymour. 

"Me.''  Why,  I  came  from  my  room  —  reached 
town  an  hour  or  so  ago." 

Something  cold  clutched  at  the  heart  of  the 
mother.  "  Where  from.^  Weren'tyouinSonora.^" 

"Sure  I  was.  At  Noche  Buena.  And  I  want  to 
tell  you  that  I've  had  enough  of  that  burg  for 
quite  some  time." 

Daisy  broke  in.  "Is  n't  it  true  that  you  were 
shot.?" 

He  turned  to  her,  surprised.  "How  did  you 
hear  that  story  already.  No,  it  ain't  true.  I  was 
to  have  been  shot  this  mawnin',  but  I  broke  jail 
and  made  a  getaway." 

132 


Steve  Yeager 

"But  —  your  letter  said  you  had  shot  yourself 
and  could  n't  live  long.  I  read  it  myself.  Mr. 
Three  wit  showed  it  to  me  before  he  left." 

"And  Mr.  Harrison  told  us  it  was  true,"  cor- 
roborated Mrs.  Seymour.  She  knew  something 
was  wrong,  but  as  yet  she  could  not  guess  what. 

"Harrison!  Has  he  been  here.?"  asked  Yeager 
sharply. 

"He  and  Ruth  left  this  afternoon  for  Noche 
Buena.  He  said  you  wanted  to  see  her  before  yon 
died  and  he  showed  us  the  letter  you  had  writ-^ 
ten." 

The  range-rider  stood  paralyzed.  The  truth 
flashed  numbingly  over  his  brain. 

"Ruth  —  gone  with  Harrison  —  to  Noche 
Buena,"  was  all  he  could  say. 

Again  Daisy  cut  in,  this  time  sharply.  "Tell 
us  your  story,  Steve.   What  is  it  that's  wrong?'* 

In  a  dozen  sentences  he  told  it.  They  listened 
tensely.  The  mother  was  the  first  to  break  the 
silence  after  he  had  finished.  She  began  to  sob* 
Steve  put  an  arm  across  her  shoulder  awkwardly, 

"Now,  don't  you,  Mrs.  Seymour.  Don't  you 
take  on.  We  '11  get  right  on  his  trail."  He  turned 
abruptly  to  Orman.  "  Get  horses  saddled.  W^e  '11 
hit  the  road  right  away.  Daisy,  call  up  Three  wit 
and  let  him  know.    I'll  take  your  gat.  Shorty." 

The  edge  of  decision  was  in  his  voice.  Nobody 
disputed  the  orders  of  this  lean,  brown,  sunbaked 

133 


Steve  Yeager 

youth  with  the  alert,  quiet,  masterful  eyes.  In 
his  manner  was  something  more  deadly  than 
threats.  More  than  one  of  those  present  thought 
he  would  not  like  to  be  Harrison. 

"Mr.  Threewit  has  gone.  He  and  Frank 
started  for  Noche  Buena  almost  an  hour  ago. 
They  went  because  of  your  letter,"  explained 
Miss  Ellington. 

"Good.  We '11  probably  catch  them.  Jackson, 
find  out  if  they  went  armed  and  see  that  we  all 
have  rifles  as  well  as  six-guns.  Get  a  move  on 
you.  We  '11  start  in  ten  minutes  from  the  hotel. 

Within  the  stipulated  time  they  were  in  the 
saddle.  Steve  looked  his  posse  over  with  an  eye 
competent  and  vigilant.  "Orman,  you  and  Bob 
ride  straight  to  the  Lazy  B.  Harrison  gave  it  out 
he  was  going  to  stop  there  for  the  night.  Me,  I 
think  he  was  lying.  If  he  has  n't  been  there,  cut 
acrost  to  Gila  Creek  and  follow  the  bed.  Jackson 
and  Dan,  you  go  straight  south  for  the  old  Pima 
water-hole  and  sweep  along  below  the  edge  of  the 
mesa.  I '11  have  a  try  more  to  the  east.  Mind,  no 
slip-up,  boys.  And  don't  forget  Harrison  wears 
his  guns  low.  If  you  have  to  shoot,  aim  to  kill." 

Phil  Seymour  came  running  down  the  road. 
"What's  this  they're  telling  about  Ruth  and 
Harrison?"  he  demanded. 

Yeager  had  no  time  for  explanations.  He 
turned  the  boy  over  to  one  of  the  others.    "Tell 

134 


Steve  Yeager 

him  about  it,  Jackson.  If  he  wants  to  go  along, 
take  him  with  you  and  Dan.  We'll  all  meet  to- 
morrow noon  at  Sieber's  Pass." 

He  shot  down  the  road  at  a  gallop,  leaving  be- 
hind him  a  cloud  of  gray  dust.  The  others  fol- 
lowed at  a  canter.  Their  horses  had  to  cover 
many  miles  before  morning  and  there  was  no  use 
in  running  them  ofiF  their  legs  at  the  start. 

Jackson,  waiting  for  Phil  to  rope  and  saddle  a 
pony,  yelled  a  caution  to  the  others. 

"Keep  yore  shirts  on,  boys.  This  ain't  no 
hundred-yard  dash.  Steve's  burnin'  the  wind 
because  he's  got  to  haid  off  Harrison  from  Pas- 
quale's  camp.  All  we  got  to  do  is  to  drive  him  up 
to  Steve." 

Phil  cut  out  and  roped  a  pony,  then  slapped  on 
a  saddle.  Presently  he  and  Jackson  were  follow- 
ing the  others  down  the  dust-filled  road. 

The  boy  spoke  his  fears  aloud,  endeavoring  to 
reassure  himself. 

"Chad  won't  hurt  Ruth  any.  He  would  n't 
dare.  This  country  won't  stand  for  that  kind  of  a 
play  with  a  girl.  Arizona  would  hang  him  to  the 
first  telegraph  pole  that  was  handy." 

The  cowpimcher  looked  at  him  and  spoke 
dryly.  "I  reckon  the  skunk's  been  out  of  Ari- 
zona quite  some  time.  He 's  in  greaser  land  now, 
and  I  never  heard  tell  that  Pasquale  was  so 
darned  particular  what  his  men  did.   Just  tie  a 

135 


Steve  Yeager 

knot  in  this:  if  Harrison  reaches  the  insurrecto 
camp  with  yore  sister,  she'll  come  back  as  his 
wife  —  or  not  at  all." 

"By  God!  I'll  kill  Harrison  at  sight  if  he  hurts 
a  hair  of  her  head,"  the  boy  cried,  a  lump  in  his 
throat. 

"Mebbe  you  will,  mebbe  you  won't.  Chad 
ain't  just  what  you'd  call  a  white  man.  He'll 
shoot  out  of  the  chaparral  if  he 's  pressed.  Some- 
one 's  going  to  git  hurt  if  we  bump  into  Mr.  Har- 
rison. It  won't  be  no  picnic  a-tall  to  take  him. 
He 's  liable  to  be  more  hos-tile  than  a  nest  of  yel- 
low jackets." 

"Leave  him  to  me  if  we  come  up  with  him. 
I'll  shoot  it  out  with  him,"  the  boy  cried 
wildly. 

Jackson  grinned.  "You're  crazy  with  the 
heat,  boy.  What  do  you  reckon  I  bought  chips 
in  this  game  for.^  I  want  a  crack  at  the  coyote 
myself." 

Phil  and  Jackson  caught  up  with  old  Dan  a 
mile  or  so  beyond  the  point  where  the  road  to  the 
Lazy  B  left  the  main  traveled  trail. 

"The  other  boys  hitting  the  dust  for  the 
ranch .f^"  asked  Jackson. 

"Yep." 

"  Yeager 's  got  it  right.  They  won't  find  Har- 
rison there.  He'll  go  through  with  his  play, 
Chad's  no  quitter." 

136 


Steve  Yeager 

Dan  nodded.  He  was  a  reticent  man  of  about 
fifty-five  with  a  bald  head  and  a  face  of  wrinkled 
leather. 

'*  We'll  git  him  sure,"  Phil  spoke  up,  announc- 
ing his  hope  rather  than  his  conviction.  "Steve 
kno\fe  what  he's  doing,  you  bet." 

Yeager  himself  was  not  so  sin-e.  Doubts  tor- 
tured him  as  to  the  destination  of  Harrison. 
Perhaps,  after  all,  he  might  be  making  for  some 
refuge  in  the  hills  and  not  for  Pasquale's  head- 
quarters. He  knew  that  as  soon  as  word  reached 
them  the  Lazy  B  riders  would  begin  to  comb  the 
desert  in  pursuit.  But  what  were  a  dozen  riders 
among  these  thousand  hill  pockets  of  the  desert.'^ 
The  best  chance  was  to  catch  the  man  at  some 
one  of  the  few  water-holes.  But  if  he  pushed  on 
at  full  speed  the  chances  were  all  in  his  favor  con- 
sidering the  long  start  he  had. 

The  range-rider  was  astride  the  fastest  horse 
in  the  Lunar  stables.  Steve  had  taken  his  pick 
of  the  mounts,  for  his  work  was  cut  out  for  him. 
Hitherto  the  luck  had  all  been  with  Harrison.  If 
Yeager  had  not  met  one  of  the  old  Lone  Star 
boys,  now  riding  for  the  Hashknife  outfit,  and 
stopped  to  join  him  in  a  long  talk  over  their  cig- 
arettes, Steve  would  have  reached  Los  Robles  in 
time  to  spoil  the  man's  plan.  Or  if  he  had  gone 
direct  to  Mrs.  Seymour  instead  of  fooling  away  a 
good  hour  and  a  half  in  his  room,  he  would  have 

137 


Steve  Yeager 

cut  down  his  enemy's  start  by  so  much  golden 
time. 

Now  all  he  could  do  was  to  get  every  foot  of 
speed  from  his  horse  that  could  be  coaxed.  He 
rode  like  a  Centaur,  giving  with  his  lithe,  supple 
body  to  every  motion  of  the  animal.  But  though 
he  took  steep  hillsides  of  shale  on  the  run,  the 
pony  slithering  down  in  a  slide  of  rubble  like  a 
cat,  the  rider's  alert  eyes  watched  the  footing 
keenly.  He  could  afford  if  necessary  to  break  a 
leg  himself,  but  he  could  not  afford  to  have  the 
horse  suffer  such  an  accident.  Not  for  nothing 
had  he  ridden  on  the  roundup  for  many  years. 
Few  men  even  in  Arizona  could  have  negotiated 
safely  such  a  bit  of  daredevil  travel  as  he  was  do- 
ing this  night. 

His  brains  were  busy,  too,  on  the  problem  be- 
fore him.  Times  and  distances  he  figured,  took 
into  account  the  animals  Harrison  and  Ruth  were 
riding,  estimated  her  strength  and  her  compan- 
ion's feverish  haste  to  reach  safety  with  her.  They 
would  have  to  stop  at  a  water-hole  somewhere, 
either  on  Gila  Creek,  or  the  old  Pima  camping- 
ground,  or  else  at  Lone  Tree  Spring.  The  most 
direct  route  to  Noche  Buena  was  by  Lone  Tree. 
Harrison  was  in  a  deuce  of  a  hurry.  Therefore 
he  would  choose  the  shortest  way.  So  Yeager 
guessed  and  hoped. 

His  watch  told  him  it  was  an  hour  past  mid- 
138 


Steve  Yeager 

flight  when  Steve  drew  close  to  Lone  Tree  Spring. 
He  was  following  a  sandy  wash  into  the  soft  bed 
of  which  the  hoofs  of  his  horse  sank  without 
noise.  They  were  perhaps  two  hundred  yards 
from  the  spring  when  the  ears  of  his  pony  lifted. 
That  was  enough  for  Yeager.  He  dismounted 
and  trailed  the  reins,  guessing  that  the  wind  had 
brought  the  scent  oi  other  horses  to  his  own. 
Quietly  he  moved  forward,  rifle  in  hand  ready  for 
action. 

The  heart  of  him  jumped  when  he  caught  sight 
of  two  picketed  horses  grazing  on  the  bench 
above.  He  worked  forward  with  infinite  care 
along  the  bank  of  the  wash  till  he  reached  the 
first  of  the  cottonwoods.  From  here  he  could 
catch  a  glimpse  of  something  huddled  lying  un- 
der the  live-oak.  This  no  doubt  was  the  sleeping 
girl.  The  figure  of  a  heavy-set  man  stood  with 
his  back  to  Yeager  in  silhouette  against  the  sky- 
line. 

Yeager  crawled  forward  another  fifteen  yards. 
A  twig  snapped  under  his  knee.  The  figure  in 
silhouette  whirled.  Steve  rose  at  the  same  in- 
stant, rifle  raised  to  his  shoulder. 

"Don't  move,"  he  advised  quietly. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE   CAVE   MEN 

Harrison  stared  at  tim  dumfounded,  chin 
down  and  jutting,  his  hand  hovering  longingly 
close  to  the  butt  of  a  revolver.  He  stood  so  for  an 
instant  in  silence,  crouched  and  tense. 

"Damn  you,  so  you're  here,"  he  said  at  last  in 
a  low,  hoarse  voice. 

"  Don't  make  another  pass  like  that  or  I  '11  plug 
you.  Unbuckle  that  belt  and  drop  it.  That's 
right.  Now,  kick  it  from  you." 

"What  do  you  want.^"  demanded  the  man 
under  the  gun  savagely  after  he  had  obeyed 
instructions. 

"You  know  what  I  want,  you  wolf."  Steve 
moved  forward  till  he  was  about  fifteen  feet  from 
the  other.  His  eyes  did  not  lift  for  a  moment 
from  the  man  he  covered. 

They  glared  at  each  other,  two  savage,  prime- 
val men  with  the  murder  lust  in  their  hearts.  All 
that  centuries  of  civilization  had  brought  them 
was  just  now  quenched. 

Then  the  woman,  the  third  factor  in  the  tri- 
angle, stirred  restlessly  and  awoke.  She  looked 
at  them  incuriously  from  innocent  eyes  still 
heavy  with  slumber.  Gradually  the  meaning  of 

140 


Steve  Yeager 

the  scene  came  home  to  her,  and  with  it  a  reaUza- 
tion  that  Steve  Yeager  was  standing  before  her  in 
the  flesh. 

"You  —  here!"  she  cried,  scarce  beheving. 

"The  cur  Hed,"  explained  the  cowpuncher. 
*^'It  was  a  frame-up  to  get  you  in  his  power." 

"But  your  letter  said  — " 

"Never  mind  about  that  now.  Go  down  into 
the  wash  and  bring  up  my  horse.  It  needs 
water." 

She  hesitated.  "  You  're  not  going  to  hurt  him, 
Steve?" 

"That's  between  him  and  me.   Do  as  I  say.'* 

Ruth  scarcely  recognized  in  this  grim,  hard- 
faced  man  with  the  blazing  eyes  the  gay  youth 
whom  she  knew  at  home.  She  felt  in  his  manner 
the  steel  of  compulsion.  Without  further  protest 
she  moved  to  obey  him.  She  was  fearful  of  what 
was  about  to  take  place,  but  her  heart  leaped  with 
gladness.  Steve  was  alive  and  strong.  It  was  not 
true  that  he  lay  with  the  life  ebbing  out  of  him, 
all  the  supple  strength  stolen  from  his  well-knit 
body.  For  the  moment  that  was  happiness 
enough. 

Harrison,  watching  with  narrowed  eyes  the 
stone-wall  face  of  his  captor,  jeered  at  him 
hardily. 

"  Now  you  got  a  strangle  holt  on  me,  what  you 
aim  to  do.f^" 

141 


Steve  Yeager 

"I'm  going  to  take  you  back  to  the  boys  that 
are  combing  these  hills  for  you.  They'll  do  all 
that's  done." 

The  prisoner's  sneer  went  out  of  commission. 
He  did  not  need  to  ask  what  Arizona  cowpunch- 
ers  would  do  to  him  under  the  circumstances. 

"I  figured  your  size  was  about  a  twenty-two  — - 
not  big  enough  to  fight  it  out  alone  with  me. 
Once  is  a-plenty." 

The  cave  man's  desire  to  beat  down  his  enemy 
with  his  naked  hands  smouldered  fiercely  in  the 
cowpuncher's  heart. 

"Step  out  in  front  of  me  and  saddle  those 
horses,"  he  ordered. 

Harrison  looked  at  him  murderously.  His 
mouth  was  an  ugly,  crooked  gash.  Boiling  with 
rage,  he  saddled,  cinched,  and  watered  the  horses. 

Ruth  had  returned  with  Steve's  pony.  Her 
heart  beat  fast  with  excitement.  An  instinct  told 
her  they  were  about  to  come  to  grips  in  epic 
struggle. 

"You're  mighty  high-heeled  now  when  you 
got  a  gun  thrown  on  me.  Put  it  in  the  discard  and 
I'll  beat  the  life  out  o'  you,"  threatened  the 
prizefighter. 

Not  releasing  the  other  man  with  his  eyes, 
Yeager  lent  one  hand  to  help  Ruth  mount.  He 
gave  clear,  crn-t  instructions  in  a  level  voice. 

"Take  all  three  horses  and  ride  to  the  edge  of 
142 


Steve  Yeager 

the  mesa.  Wait  there.  One  of  us  —  either  him  or 
me  —  will  come  up  there  after  a  while.  If  it 's 
him,  take  all  the  horses  and  light  out.  Keep  the 
moon  on  your  left  and  ride  straight  forward  till 
daybreak.  You'll  see  a  gash  in  the  hills  about 
where  the  sun  rises.  That's  Sieber's  Pass.  The 
boys  will  be  waiting  for  you.  Understand.?" 

"Yes,  but  —  What  are  you  going  to  do, 
Steve.?"  she  cried  almost  in  a  whisper. 

*' That's  my  business  —  and  I'm  going  to 
attend  to  it.  Keep  your  mind  on  the  directions 
I've  given.  If  it's  Harrison  that  comes  up  over 
the  hill,  get  right  out  with  all  the  horses.  Gimme 
your  promise  on  that." 

Trembling,  she  gave  it  to  him. 

"Don't  you  be  afraid.  No  need  of  that.  It 
won't  he  him.  It'll  he  me  that  comes.  But  if  it 
should  be  him,  don't  let  him  get  close.  Shoot  him 
first.  It  will  be  to  save  you  from  worse  than 
death.   Have  you  got  the  nerve  to  do  it.?" 

Something  in  his  manner,  in  his  voice,  rang  a 
bell  in  her  heart.  She  nodded,  her  throat  too  dry 
for  speech. 

"All  right.  Go  now.  And  don't  make  any 
mistake  whatever  you  do.  Follow  out  exactly 
what  I've  told  you." 

Again  she  promised.  He  handed  to  her  the 
rifle.  She  rode  away,  taking  the  other  horses 
with  her. 

14S 


Steve  Yeager 

When  she  was  out  of  sight  in  a  dip  of  the  draw, 
Harrison  spoke. 

'*Well,  what  is  it  to  be?  I  see  you  got  your 
gats  yet.  Going  to  shoot  me  down  Hke  a  coyote?  '* 

''That's  what  you  deserve.  That's  what 
you  'd  get  if  the  Lazy  B  boys  got  hold  of  you. 
But  I  'm  going  to  kill  you  with  my  bare  hands, 
you  wolf." 

With  what  seemed  a  single  motion  of  his  hands 
he  unbuckled  the  revolver  belt  from  his  waist  and 
flung  it  from  him.  Crouched  like  a  tiger,  he 
moved  slowly  forward,  the  flow  of  his  muscles 
rhythmic  and  graceful. 

The  prizefighter  could  scarce  beheve  his  luck. 
He  threw  out  his  salient  chin  and  laughed  trium- 
phantly. "You  danmed  fool!  I've  got  you  at 
last.  I've  got  you." 

Light  as  a  panther,  Yeager  lashed  out  with  his 
left  and  caught  flush  the  point  of  that  protruding 
chin.  The  grinning  head  went  back  as  if  it  had 
been  on  hinges.  Shoulders,  buttocks,  and  heels 
hit  the  ground  together.  The  range-rider  was  on 
him  as  a  terrier  lights  on  a  rat.  Jarred  though  his 
brains  were,  the  instinct  of  self-preservation 
served  the  man  underneath.  He  half  turned, 
flung  an  arm  around  the  neck  of  his  foe,  and 
clung  tightly  even  while  he  covered  up.  Steve's 
fist  hammered  at  the  back  of  the  close-cropped 
head.    The  prizefighter  swung  over,  face  down, 

144 


Steve  Yeager 

rose  to  his  hands  and  knees  by  sheer  strength, 
then  reached  for  his  neck  grip  again. 

Yeager  eluded  him,  throwing  all  his  weight  for- 
ward to  force  his  opponent  down  again.  Harri- 
son gave  suddenly.  They  rolled  over  and  over, 
jGghting  and  clawing  like  wild  cats,  two  bipeds 
in  a  death  struggle  as  fierce  and  ruthless  as 
that  between  wolves  or  grizzlies.  No  words 
were  spoken.  They  were  back  in  the  primitive 
Stone  Age  before  speech  was  invented.  Snarl- 
ing and  growling,  they  fought  with  an  appall- 
ing fury. 

Presently  they  were  back  on  their  feet  again. 
Toe  to  toe  they  stood,  rocking  each  other  with 
sledgehammer  blows.  Blood  poured  from  the 
beaten  faces  of  both.  Harrison  clinched.  They 
staggered  to  and  fro  before  they  went  down 
heavily,  Yeager  underneath.  The  prizefighter 
thrust  his  right  forearm  under  the  chin  of  his 
enemy  and  with  his  left  thumb  and  middle  finger 
gouged  at  the  eyes  of  the  man  beneath  him. 
Steve's  legs  moved  up,  encircled  those  of  the 
rustler,  and  swiftly  straightened.  With  a  bellow 
of  pain  Harrison  flung  himself  free  and  clambered 
to  his  feet.  The  legs  of  his  trousers  had  been 
ripped  open  for  a  foot.  Blood  streamed  from  his 
calves  where  the  sharp  rowels  of  the  range- 
rider's  spurs  had  torn  the  flesh. 

They  quartered  over  the  ground  many  times 
145 


Steve  Yeager 

as  they  fought.  Sometimes  they  were  on  their 
feet  slogging  hard.  Once,  at  least,  they  crouched 
knee  to  knee.  Lying  on  the  ground,  they  struck 
no  less  furiously  and  desperately.  All  sense  of 
fair  play,  of  sportsmanship,  was  gone.  They 
struggled  to  kill  and  not  be  killed. 

Their  lungs  labored  heavily.  They  began  to 
stagger  as  they  moved.  The  muscles  of  their 
arms  lost  their  resilience.  Their  legs  dragged  as 
though  weighted.  Harrison  was,  if  a  choice 
might  be  made,  in  worse  case.  He  was  the 
stronger  man,  but  he  lacked  the  tireless  endur- 
ance of  the  other.  Watching  him  with  animal 
wariness,  Yeager  knew  that  the  man  who  went 
down  first  would  stay  down.  His  enemy  was 
sagging  at  the  knees.  He  could  with  difficulty 
lift  his  arms.  He  fought  only  in  spurts.  All  this 
was  true  of  himself,  too.  But  somewhere  in  him 
was  that  dynamic  will  not  to  be  beaten  that 
counted  heavily  as  a  reserve. 

The  prizefighter  called  on  himself  for  the  last 
attack.  He  stumbled  forward,  head  down,  in  a 
charge.  An  aimless  blow  flung  Steve  against  the 
trunk  of  the  live-oak.  His  arms  thrashing  wildly, 
Harrison  plunged  forward  to  finish  him.  The 
cowpuncher  ducked,  lurched  to  one  side.  Against 
the  bark  of  the  tree  crashed  the  fist  of  the  other, 
swinging  him  half  round. 

Yeager  flung  himself  on  the  back  of  his  foe. 
146 


Steve  Yeager 

Human  bone  and  flesh  and  muscle  could  do  no 
more.  The  knees  of  Harrison  gave  and  he  sank 
to  the  ground,  his  head  falling  in  the  spring.  His 
opponent,  breathless  and  exhausted,  lay  motion- 
less on  top  of  him.  For  a  time  both  lay  without 
stirring.  The  first  to  move  was  Steve.  He  noticed 
that  the  nose  and  mouth  of  the  senseless  man  lay 
beneath  the  water.  By  exerting  all  his  strength 
he  pulled  the  battered  head  almost  out  of  the 
water.  Very  slowly  and  painfully  he  got  to  his 
feet.  Leaning  against  the  tree  for  support,  he 
looked  down  at  the  helpless  white  face  of  the  man 
he  had  hated  so  furiously  only  a  few  minutes 
earlier.  That  emotion  had  entirely  vanished. 
It  was  impossible  to  feel  any  resentment  against 
that  bruised  and  bleeding  piece  of  clay.  Steve 
was  conscious  only  of  a  tremendous  desire  to  lie 
down  and  go  to  sleep. 

He  laved  his  face  with  water  as  best  he  could, 
picked  up  the  belt  he  had  thrown  away,  and 
drunkenly  climbed  the  hill  toward  Ruth. 

She  cried  out  at  sight  of  him  with  a  heart  of 
joy,  but  as  he  lurched  nearer  she  slid  from  the 
horse  and  ran  toward  him.  Could  this  be  the  man 
she  had  left  but  half  an  hour  since  so  full  of  vital 
strength  and  youth?  His  vest  and  shirt  were  torn 
to  ribbons  so  that  they  did  not  cover  the  mauled 
and  bruised  flesh  at  all.  Every  exposed  inch  of 
his  head  and  body  had  its  wounds  to  show.    He 

147 


Steve  Yeager 

was  drenched  with  blood.  The  sight  of  his  face 
wrung  her  heart. 

"What  did  he  do  to  you.^^"  she  cried  with  a 
sob,  sUpping  an  arm  round  his  waist  to  support 
him. 

"I  said  I'd  be  the  one  to  come,"  he  told  her  as 
he  leaned  against  the  neck  of  his  pony. 

'*Oh,  why  did  you  do  it.?"  And  swiftly  on  the 
heels  of  that  cry  came  the  thought  of  relief  for 
him.  ''I'll  get  you  water.  I'll  bathe  your 
wounds." 

''No.  We've  got  to  get  out  of  here.  Anytime 
some  of  Pasquale's  men  may  come.  His  camp  is 
not  far." 

"But  you  can't  go  like  that.  You're  hurt." 

"That's  all  right.  Nothing  the  matter  with 
me.   Can  you  get  on  alone.?" 

"Can  you.?"  she  asked  in  turn,  after  she  had 
swung  to  the  saddle. 

He  had  to  try  it  three  times  before  he  suc- 
ceeded in  getting  into  the  seat.  So  weak  was  he 
that  as  the  horse  moved  he  had  to  cling'with  both 
hands  to  the  pommel  of  the  saddle  to  steady  him- 
self. Ruth  rode  close  beside  him,  all  solicitude  and 
anxiety. 

"You  ought  not  to  be  riding.  I  know  your 
wounds  hurt  you  cruelly,"  she  urged  in  a  grave 
and  troubled  voice. 

"I  reckon  I  can  stand  the  grief.  When  I've 
148 


Steve  Yeager 
had  a  bath  and  a  good  sleep  I'll  be  good  as 


new." 


She  asked  timidly  the  question  that  filled  her 
mind.   "Did  you  —  What  about  him?" 

**Did  I  kill  him?  Is  that  what  you  mean?" 

"Yes,"  she  murmiu-ed. 

"No,  I  reckon  not.  He  was  lying  senseless 
when  I  left,  but  I  expect  he'll  come  to." 

"Oh,  I  hope  so  .  .  «  I  do  hope  so." 

He  looked  at  her,  asking  no  questions.  Some 
men  would  have  broken  into  denunciation  of  the 
scoundrel,  would  have  defended  the  course  they 
had  followed.  This  man  did  neither  the  one  nor 
the  other.  She  might  think  what  she  pleased. 
He  had  fought  from  an  inner  compulsion,  not  to 
win  her  applause.  No  matter  how  she  saw  it  he 
could  offer  no  explanations  or  apologies. 

"I  hope  so  because  —  because  of  you,"  she 
continued.  "Now  I  know  him  for  what  he  is. 
I'm  through  with  him  for  always."  Then,  in  a 
sudden  burst  of  frankness:  "I  never  did  trust 
him,  really." 

"  You  've  had  good  luck.  Some  women  find  out 
things  too  late,"  he  commented  simply. 

After  that  they  rode  in  silence,  except  at  long 
intervals  when  she  asked  him  if  he  was  in  pain 
or  too  tired  to  travel.  The  lightening  of  the  sky 
for  the  coming  dawn  found  them  still  in  the  saddle 
with  the  jagged  mountain  line  rising  vaguely 

149 


Steve  Yeager 

before  them  in  the  darkness  like  a  long  shadow* 
Presently  they  could  make  out  the  gash  in  the 
range  that  was  Sieber's  Pass. 

"Some  of  the  boys  will  be  waiting  there  for  us, 
I  reckon/'  Steve  said.  "They'll  be  glad  to  see 
you  safe." 

"If  I'm  safe,  they'll  know  who  brought  it 
about."  Her  voice  trembled  as  she  hurried  on: 
"  I  can't  thank  you.  All  I  can  say  is  that  I  under- 
stand from  what  you  saved  me." 

He  looked  away  at  the  distant  hills.  "That's 
all  right.  I  had  the  good  luck  to  be  in  the  right 
place.  Any  of  the  boys  would  have  been  glad  of 
the  chance." 

After  a  time  th^  saw  smoke  rising  from  a  hol- 
low in  the  hilk.  They  were  cUmbing  steadily 
now  by  way  of  a  gulch  trail.  This  opened  into  a 
draw.  A  little  back  from  the  stream  a  man  was 
bending  over  a  camp-fire.  He  turned  his  head  to 
call  to  a  second  man  and  caught  sight  of  them. 
It  was  Orman.  He  let  out  a  whoop  of  gladness 
when  he  recognized  Ruth.  Others  came  running 
from  a  little  clump  of  timber. 

Phil  lifted  his  sister  from  the  saddle  and  kissed 
her.  He  said  nothing,  since  he  could  not  speak 
without  breaking  down. 

Jackson  looked  at  Steve  in  amazement.  "You 
been  wrastling  with  a  circular  saw.?"  he  asked. 

It  hurt  Yeager's  broken  face  to  smile,  but  he 

150 


Steve  Yeager 

attempted  it.  '*  Had  a  little  difference  of  opinion 
with  Chad.   We  kind  o'  talked  things  over." 

Nobody  asked  anything  further.  It  is  the  way 
of  outdoor  Arizona  to  take  a  good  deal  for 
granted.  This  man  was  torn  and  tattered  and 
bruised.  His  face  was  cut  open  in  a  dozen  places. 
Purple  weals  and  discolorations  showed  how 
badly  his  body  had  been  punished.  He  looked  a 
fit  subject  for  a  hospital.  But  every  one  who 
looked  into  his  quiet,  unconquered  eyes  knew 
that  he  had  come  off  victor. 

"First  off,  a  bath  in  the  creek  to  get  rid  of 
these  souvenirs  Chad  sent  to  my  address.  Then 
it's  me  for  the  hay,"  he  announced. 

Ruth  watched  him  go,  lean,  sinewy,  and  wide- 
shouldered.  His  stride  was  once  more  light  and 
strong,  for  with  the  passing  hours  power  had 
flowed  back  into  his  veins.  She  sighed.  He  was 
a  man  that  would  go  the  limit  for  his  friends.  He 
was  gentle,  kindly,  full  of  genial  and  cheerful 
courage.  But  she  knew  now  there  was  another 
side  to  him,  a  quality  that  was  tigerish,  that 
snarled  like  a  wolf  in  battle.  Why  was  it  that 
men  must  be  so.^ 

Old  Dan  chuckled.  "Ain't  he  the  lad?  Store 
up  to  beat  all  get-out.  But  I  'd  give  a  dollar  Mex 
to  see  the  other  man.  He's  sure  a  pippin  to  see 
this  glad  mawnin'." 

Something  of  what  was  groping  in  her  mind 
151 


Steve  Yeager 

broke  from  Ruth  into  words.  "Why  do  men 
fight  Hke  that?  It's  dreadful." 

Dan  scratched  his  shiny  bald  head.  "It 
straightens  out  a  heap  of  things  in  this  little  old 
world.  My  old  man  used  to  say  to  me  when  I 
was  a  kid,  'Son,  don't  start  trouble,  but  when 
it's  going,  play  yore  hand  out.'  That's  how  it  is 
with  Steve.  He  ain't  huntin'  trouble  anywhere, 
but  he  ce'tainly  plays  his  hand  out." 

Phil  took  charge  of  his  sister.  He  gave  her 
coffee  and  breakfast,  then  arranged  blankets  so 
that  she  could  get  a  few  hours'  sleep  in  comfort. 
Orman  rode  back  to  Los  Robles  to  carry  the 
word  to  Mrs.  Seymour  that  Ruth  had  been  res- 
cued and  was  all  right.  The  others  lounged  about 
camp  while  Yeager  and  the  girl  slept. 

At  noon  they  were  wakened.  Coffee  was  served 
again,  after  which  they  rode  down  from  the  pass 
and  started  home.  Before  supper-time  they  were 
back  in  Los  Robles. 


CHAPTER  XV 

STEVE  WINS  A   HAM   SANDWICH 

Yeager  was  roused  from  sleep  next  morning 
by  a  knock  at  the  door.  His  visitor  was  Fleming 
Lennox,  leading  man  of  the  company. 

"Say,  Steve,  what  about  Threewit  and  Farrar.?^ 
I  just  telephoned  to  the  Lazy  B  Ranch  and  the 
foreman  says  his  boys  did  not  run  across  them. 
You  know  what  that  means.  They've  reached 
old  Pasquale's  camp." 

Yeager  sat  up  in  bed  and  whistled  softly  to 
himself.  This  was  a  contingency  he  had  not  fore- 
seen. What  would  the  Mexican  chief  do  to  two 
of  the  range-rider's  friends  who  delivered  them- 
selves into  his  hands  so  opportunely.'^  Steve  did 
not  think  he  would  kill  them  oflFhand,  but  he  was 
very  sure  they  would  not  be  at  liberty  to  return 
home.  Moreover,  Harrison  would  be  on  the 
ground,  eager  for  revenge.  The  prizefighter  never 
had  liked  Farrar.  He  had  sworn  to  get  even  with 
Threewit.  An  added  incentive  to  this  course 
was  the  fact  that  he  knew  them  both  to  be  on 
very  good  terms  with  his  chief  enemy.  Without 
doubt  Chad  would  do  his  best  to  stimulate  the 
insurgent  leader  to  impulsive  violence. 

153 


Steve  Yeager 

The  man  in  bed  concealed  his  apprehension 
under  a  comical  grin.  "This  life's  just  one 
damned  thing  after  another,  looks  like,"  he  com- 
mented. "I  didn't  figure  on  that.  I  thought 
sure  the  boys  would  bump  into  Threewit.  That 
slip-up  surely  spills  the  beans." 

"You  don't  think  even  Pasquale  would  dare 
hurt  them,  do  you?"  asked  Lennox  anxiously. 

"Search  me.  Pasquale 's  boiled  in  p'ison,  espe- 
cially when  he  is  drunk.  He'd  do  whatever  he 
had  a  mind  to  do." 

"What's  the  matter  with  us  sending  a  mes- 
senger down  there  with  a  fake  wire  from  the  old 
man  to  Threewit  telling  him  to  hustle  up  and  get 
busy  right  away  on  a  feature  film.?  Pasquale 
would  have  to  show  his  hand,  anyhow.  We'd 
know  where  we  were  at." 

Yeager  assented.  "He'd  have  to  turn  them 
loose  or  hold  them.  But  even  if  he  turned  them 
loose,  he  might  arrange  to  have  them  accidentally 
killed  by  bandits  before  they  reached  home.  Still, 
it  would  put  one  thing  right  up  to  him  —  that 
their  friends  know  where  they  are  and  are  ready 
to  sick  Uncle  Sam  on  him  if  he  don't  act  proper." 

Manderson,  Miss  Winters,  and  Daisy  Elling- 
ton were  called  into  council  after  breakfast. 
The  situation  was  canvassed  from  all  sides,  but 
in  the  end  they  stood  where  they  had  been  at  the 
beginning.     Nobody   felt   sure  what   Pasquale 

154f 


ij 


Steve  Yeager 

would  do  or  knew  whether  the  visitors  at  his 
camp  would  be  detained  as  prisoners.  The 
original  suggestion  of  Lennox  seemed  the  best 
under  the  circumstances. 

Old  Juan  Yuste  was  brought  in  from  the  stables 
and  given  the  telegram.  He  was  told  nothing 
except  that  it  was  urgent  that  Threewit  get  the 
message  as  soon  as  possible.  The  five-dollar  gold- 
piece  which  Lennox  tossed  to  the  Mexican  drew 
a  grin  that  exposed  a  mouth  half  empty  of  teeth. 

In  the  absence  of  both  Threewit  and  Farrar 
the  business  of  producing  films  was  at  a  stand- 
still. The  members  of  the  company  took  an 
enforced  holiday.  Manderson  read  a  novel. 
Daisy  wrote  letters.  Lennox  and  Miss  Winters 
went  for  a  long  stroll.  Steve  helped  Baldy  Cum- 
mings  mend  broken  saddles  and  other  property 
stuff.  The  extras  played  poker. 

Juan  returned  late  in  the  evening  on  the  second 
day.  He  brought  with  him  a  letter  addressed  to 
Lennox.  It  was  from  Pasquale.  The  message 
Was  written  in  English.  It  said:  — 

Greetings,  seiior.  Your  friends  are 
the  guests  of  General  Pasquale.  They 
came  to  Noche  Buena  to  find  one  Senor 
Yeager.  They  are  resolved  to  stay  here 
until  he  is  found  by  them,  even  though 
they  remain  till  the  day  of  their  death. 
15if 


Steve  Yeager 

The  note  was  signed,  "Siempre,  Gabriel 
Pasquale." 

After  reading,  it,  Yeager  handed  the  note  back 
to  Lennox  and  spoke  quietly. 

*'Pasquale  passes  the  buck  up  to  me.  I've 
been  thinking  he  might  do  that." 

"You  mean—.?" 

" — That  he  serves  notice  he's  going  to  kill 
our  friends  if  I  don't  give  myself  up  to  him." 

''But  would  he.?  Dare  he.?" 

Yeager  shrugged.  ''It  will  happen  in  the  usual 
Mexican  way  —  killed  by  accident  while  trying 
to  escape,  or  else  ambushed  by  Federals  on  the 
desert  while  coming  home,  according  to  the  story 
that  will  be  dished  up  to  the  papers.  He  will  be 
full  of  regrets  and  apologies  to  our  Government, 
but  that  won't  help  Threewit  or  Frank  any." 

"Don't  you  think  he's  bluflfing?  Pasquale 
has  n't  a  thing  against  either  of  them.  He  surely 
would  n't  murder  them  in  cold  blood." 

"I  don't  know  whether  he  is  or  not.  But  it's 
up  to  me  to  sit  in  and  take  cards.  They  went 
down  to  Noche  Buena  on  my  account.  I  'm  going 
down  on  theirs." 

Lennox  stared  incredulously  at  him.  "You 
don't  mean  you're  going  to  give  yourself  up. 
Pasquale  would  hang  up  your  hide  to  dry." 

"That's  just  what  he  would  do,  after  he  had 
boiled  me  in  x)il  or  given  me  some  other  pleasant 

156 


Steve  Yeager 

diversion.  No,  I  reckon  I'll  not  give  myself  up« 
I'll  join  his  army  again." 

"I  give  it  up,  Steve.  Tell  me  the  answer." 

"As  a  private  this  time." 

"Fat  chance  you'll  have,  with  Friend  Harri- 
son there  to  spot  you,  not  to  mention  the  old  boy 
himself  and  Culvera." 

"It  won't  be  Steve  Yeager  that  joins.  It  will 
be  a  poor  peon  from  the  hills  named  Pedro  or 
Juan  or  Pablo." 

"You're  going  to  rig  up  as  a  Mexican?" 

"Some  guesser,  Lennox." 

"You  can't  put  it  over,  not  with  your  face 
looking  like  a  pounded  beefsteak.  I  judge  you 
don't  know  what  an  Exhibit  A  you  are  at  pre- 
sent. The  first  time  Chad  looked  at  you,  he 
would  recognize  the  result  of  his  uppercuts  and 
swings." 

"So  he  would.  I'll  have  to  wait  a  week  or  so. 
Send  Juan  back  to  Pasquale  and  tell  him  you 
hear  I  'm  in  the  Lone  Star  country  where  I  used 
to  punch.  Say  you  've  sent  for  me  with  an  offer 
to  take  Harrison's  place  in  the  company,  and 
that  if  I  come  you'll  arrange  with  him  to  have 
me  taken  by  his  men  while  we  're  doing  a  set  near 
the  line.  He'll  fall  for  that  because  he'll  be  so 
keen  to  get  me  that  any  chance  will  look  good  to 
him.  You  '11  have  to  give  Juan  a  tip  not  to  let  it 
out  I'm  here." 

157 


Steve  Yeager 

"What  can  you  do  if  you  get  into  Pasquale's 
camp  as  one  of  his  men?" 

"I  don't  know.  Something  will  turn  up." 

"You're  taking  a  big  chance,  Steve." 

"Not  because  I  want  to.  But  I've  got  to  do 
what  I  can  for  the  boys.  This  ain't  just  the  time 
for  a  'watchful  waiting'  policy,  seems  to  me. 
If  you ' ve  got  anything  better  to  offer,  I  'm  agree- 
able to  listen." 

"The  only  thing  I  can  think  of  is  to  appeal  to 
Uncle  Sam." 

"That  won't  get  us  much.  But  there's  no 
harm  in  trying.  Have  the  old  man  stir  up  a  big 
dust  at  Washington.  After  plenty  of  red  tape  an 
oflScial  representation  will  be  made  to  Pasquale. 
He  will  lie  himself  black  in  the  face.  More  corre- 
spondence. More  explanations.  Finally,  if  the 
prisoners  are  still  alive,  they  will  start  home. 
Mebbe  they'll  get  here.  Mebbe  they  won't." 

"Then  you  don't  think  it's  worth  trying.^" 

"Sure  I  do.  Every  little  helps.  It  might  make 
Pasquale  sit  steady  in  the  boat  till  I  get  a  chance 
to  pull  off  something." 

When  Daisy  Ellington  heard  of  the  plan  she 
went  straight  to  Yeager. 

"What's  this  I  hear  about  you  committing 
.suicide.^"  she  demanded. 

"News  to  me,  compadre,"  smiled  the  puncher. 

"You're  not  really  going  down  there  to  shove 
158 


Steve  Yeager 

your  head  into  that  den  of  wolves,  are  you?" 
Without  waiting  for  an  answ..  she  pushed  on  to 
a  prediction.  *' Because  if  you  do,  they'll  surely 
snap  it  off." 

**Wish  you'd  change  your  brand  of  prophecy, 
nifla.  You  see,  this  is  the  only  head  I've  got. 
I^m  some  partial  to  it." 

"Then  you  had  better  keep  away  from  that 
old  Pasquale  and  Chad  Harrison.  Don't  be  fool- 
ish, Steve."  She  caught  the  lapels  of  his  coat  and 
shook  him  fondly.  "If  you  don't  know  when 
you  're  well  off,  your  friends  do.  We  're  not  going 
to  let  you  go." 

"Threewit  and  Farrar,"  he  reminded  her. 

"They'll  have  to  take  their  chance.  Besides,. 
Pasquale  is  n't  going  to  hurt  them.  There 
would  n't  be  any  sense  in  it.  So  there 's  no  use 
lis  getting  panicky." 

"I  don't  reckon  I'm  exactly  panicky,  Daisy. 
But  it  won't  do  to  forget  that  Pasquale  is  one 
bad  hombre.  Harrison  is  another,  and  he's  got  it 
in  for  the  boys.  We  can't  lie  down  and  quit  on 
them,  can  we?  I  notice  they  did  n't  do  that  with 


me." 


"What  good  will  it  do  for  you  to  go  and  get 
trapped  too?  It's  different  with  you.  They've 
got  it  in  for  you  down  there.  It's  just  fool- 
hardiness  for  you  to  go  back,"  she  told  him 
sharply. 

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Steve  Yeager 

"You're  sure  some  little  boss,"  he  laughed. 
"^^I'm  willing  to  be  reasonable.  If  I  can  prove  to 
you  that  I  stand  a  good  chance  to  pull  it  off  down 
at  Noche  Buena,  will  you  feel  different  about 
it?" 

"Yes,  if  you  can — but  you  can't,"  she  agreed, 
flashing  at  him  the  provocative  little  smile  that 
was  one  of  her  charms. 

"Bet  you  a  box  of  chocolates  against  a  ham 
.sandwich  I  can." 

"You're  on,"  she  nodded  airily. 

"Better  order  that  ham  sandwich,"  he  advised, 
mocking  her  lazily  with  his  friendly  eyes. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know.  You're  not  so  much.  Cac- 
tus Center.  I  expect  to  be  eating  chocolates 
soon." 

Her  gay  audacity  always  pleased  him.  He 
settled  himself  for  explanations  soberly,  but  back 
of  his  gravity  lay  laughter. 

"You've  got  the  wrong  hunch  on  me.  I  ain't 
any  uneducated  sheepherder.  Don't  run  away 
with  that  notion.  Me,  I  went  through  the  first 
year  of  the  High  School  at  Tucson.  I  know  all 
about  amo,  amcts,  amat,  and  how  to  make  a  flying 
tackle.  Course  oncet  in  a  while  I  slip  up  in  gram- 
mar. There's  heap  too  much  grammar  in  the 
world,  anyhow.  It  plumb  chokes  up  a  man's 
language." 

"All  right,  Steve.  Show  me.  I'm  from  Jopliot 
160 


Steve  Yeager 

Missouri.  When  are  you  going  to  do  all  this 
proving?" 

*'We  won't  set  a  date.  Some  time  before  I 
leave." 

Yeager  walked  from  the  studio  to  his  rooming- 
place.  Ruth  Seymour  met  him  on  the  porch  and 
stopped  him.  It  was  the  first  time  he  had  seen  her 
since  their  return. 

'*Is  it  true  —  what  Mr.  Manderson  says  — 
that  you  are  going  back  to  Noche  Buena.?"  she 
flung  at  him. 

"I'm  certainly  getting  on  the  society  page,'* 
he  laughed.  "Manderson  has  a  pretty  good  repu- 
tation. I  should  n't  wonder  if  what  he  says  is 
true." 

The  face  beneath  the  crown  of  soft  black  hair 
was  colorless  except  for  the  trembling  lips. 

"Why.?  Why  must  you  go.^^  You've  just 
escaped  from  there  with  your  life.  Are  you 
mad.?" 

"Look  here.  Miss  Ruth.  I've  just  had  a 
roimdup  with  Miss  Ellington  about  this.  I'm 
going  to  take  a  whirl  at  rescuing  our  friends. 
Pasquale  can't  put  over  such  a  raw  deal  without 
getting  a  run  for  his  money  from  me.  I  'm  going 
back  there  because  it's  up  to  me  to  go.  There 
are  some  things  a  man  can't  do.  He  can't  quit 
when  his  friends  need  him." 

She  was  standing  in  the  doorway,  her  head 
161 


Steve  Yeager 

leaning  against  the  jamb  so  that  the  fine  curve 
of  the  throat  Une  showed  a  beating  pulse.  Some- 
thing in  the  pose  of  the  slim,  graceful  figure  told 
him  of  repressed  emotion, 

*'That  is  absurd,  Mr.  Yeager.  You  can't  do 
anything  for  them  if  you  go." 

"Everybody  sizes  me  up  for  a  buzzard-head," 
he  complained  whimsically. 

The  gravity  did  not  lift  from  her  young,  quick 
eyes. 

"If  you  go  they'll  kill  you,"  she  said  in  a  voice 
as  dry  as  a  whisper. 

"Sho!  Nothing  to  that.  I'm  going  down  dis- 
guised. I'll  be  safe  enough." 

"I  suppose  .  .  .  nothing  can  keep  you  from 
going."  A  sob  choked  up  in  her  throat  as  she 
spoke. 

"No.  I've  got  to  go." 

"You  think  you  have  a  right  to  play  at  dice 
with  your  life!  Don't  your  friends  count  with 
you  at  all.?" 

"It's  because  they  do  that  I'm  going,"  he 
answered  gently. 

Her  troubled  eyes  rested  on  his.  The  protest 
in  her  heart  was  still  urgent,  but  she  dared  go  no 
further.  Some  instiact  of  maidenly  reticence 
curbed  the  passionate  rebellion  against  his  deci- 
sion. If  she  said  more,  she  might  say  too  much. 
With  a  swift,  sinuous  turn  of  the  slender  body 

162 


Steve  Yeager 

she  ran  into  the  house  and  left  him  standing 
there. 

Daisy  sat  at  one  end  of  the  pergola  mending  a 
glove.  It  was  in  the  pleasant  cool  of  the  evening 
just  as  dusk  was  beginning  to  fall.  A  light  breeze 
rustled  the  rose-leaves  and  played  with  the  ten- 
drils of  her  soft,  wavy  hair.  The  coolness  was 
grateful  after  the  heat  of  an  Arizona  day. 

The  front  gate  creaked.  A  man  was  coming  in, 
a  Mexican  of  the  peon  class.  He  moved  up  the 
walk  toward  her  with  a  slight  limp.  As  he  drew 
closer,  she  observed  negligently  that  he  was  of 
early  middle  age,  ragged,  and  of  course  dirty. 
Age  and  lack  of  soap  had  so  dyed  his  serape  that 
the  original  color  was  quite  gone. 

He  bowed  to  her  with  the  native  courtesy  that 
belongs  to  even  the  peons  of  his  race.  A  swift 
patter  of  Spanish  fell  from  his  lips. 

Miss  Ellington  shook  her  head.  "No  sabe 
EspanoL" 

The  man  gushed  into  a  second  eruption  of 
liquid  vowels,  accompanied  this  time  by  gestures 
which  indicated  that  he  wanted  food. 

The  young  woman  nodded,  went  into  the 
house,  and  secured  from  Mrs.  Seymour  a  plate 
of  broken  fragments  left  over  from  supper.  With 
this  and  a  cup  of  coflfee  she  returned  to  the 
pergola. 

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Steve  Yeager 

"Gracias,  seiiorita."  The  shining  black  poll 
of  the  man  bowed  over  the  donation  as  he 
accepted  it. 

He  sat  cross-legged  among  the  roses  and  ate 
what  had  been  given  him.  Daisy  observed  criti- 
cally that  his  habit  of  eating  was  not  at  all  nice. 
He  discarded  the  fork  she  had  brought,  using 
only  the  knife  and  his  fingers.  The  meat  he  tore 
apart  and  devoured  ravenously,  cramming  it 
wolfishly  into  his  mouth  as  fast  as  he  could.  A 
few  days  before  she  had  fallen  into  an  argument 
with  Steve  Yeager  about  the  civilization  of  the 
Mexicans.  She  wished  he  could  see  this  specimen. 

The  man  spoke,  after  he  had  cleaned  the  plate, 
licked  up  the  gravy,  and  gulped  down  the  coflfee. 
His  words  fell  in  a  slow  drawl,  not  in  Spanish, 
but  in  English. 

"Don't  you  reckon  mebbe  I  could  get  a  ham 
sandwich  too.?" 

The  actress  jumped.  "Steve,  you  fraud!"  she 
screamed,  and  flew  at  him. 

"Do  I  win?"  he  asked,  protecting  himself  as 
he  backed  away. 

"Of  course  you  do.  Why  haven't  we  been 
using  you  up  stage  in  the  Mexican  sets?  You're 
perfect.  How  did  you  ever  get  your  hair  so  slick 
and  black?" 

"I've  been  studying  make-ups  since  I  joined 
the  Lunar  Company,"  he  told  her. 

164 


Steve  Yeager 

** How  about  your  Spanish?  Is  it  good  enough 
to  pass  muster?" 

"I  learned  to  jabber  it  when  I  was  a  year  old 
before  I  did  English." 

"Then  you'll  do.  I  defy  even  Harrison  to 
recognize  you." 

He  gave  her  his  Mexican  bow.  "Gracias, 
ienorita." 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE   HEAVY   PAYS  A   DEBT 

When  Threewit  and  Farrar  reached  Noche 
Buena,  Pasquale  was  absent  from  camp,  but 
Ctilvera  made  them  suavely  welcome. 

"Selior  Yeager  has  recovered  and  was  called 
away  unexpectedly  on  business,"  he  explained; 
adding  with  his  lip  smile,  "He  will  be  desolated 
to  have  missed  you/* 

"He  is  better,  then?" 

"Indeed,  quite  his  self.  He  nearly  died  from 
gunshot  wounds,  but  unless  he  suflFers  a  relapse 
he  is  entirely  out  of  present  danger." 

"Should  n't  have  thought  it  would  have  been 
safe  to  travel  yet,"  Farrar  returned. 

He  was  uneasy  in  his  mind,  sensing  something 
of  mocking  irony  in  the  manner  of  the  Mexican. 
It  was  strange  that  Yeager,  wounded  to  death  as 
his  letter  had  said,  was  able  in  two  days  to  be  up 
and  around  again. 

"We  were  anxious  to  have  him  stop,  but  he 
was  in  a  hurry.  Personally  I  did  my  best  to  get 
him  to  stay."  Culvera's  smile  glittered  reminis- 
cently :  "The  truth  is  that  he  thought  our  climate 
unhealthy.  He  was  afraid  of  heart  failure." 

Threewit  scoffed  openly.  "Absurd.  The  man 
166 


Steve  Yeager 

is  the  finest  physical  specimen  I  ever  saw.  If  you 
had  ever  seen  him  on  the  back  of  an  outlaw 
bronc,  you'd  know  his  heart  was  all  right." 

The  door  of  the  room  opened  and  Harrison 
came  in.  He  stopped,  mouth  open  with  surprise 
at  sight  of  the  Americans. 

"Some  of  Mr.  Yeager's  anxious  friends  come 
dov/n  to  inquire  about  his  health,  Harrison.  Did 
he  seem  to  you  healthy  last  time  you  saw  him?" 
the  Mexican  asked  maliciously. 

Like  a  thunderclap  the  prizefighter  broke  loose 
in  a  turbid  stream  of  profanity.  It  boiled  from 
his  lips  Uke  molten  lava  from  a  crater.  The 
raucous  words  poured  forth  from  a  heart  furious 
with  rage.  The  man  was  beside  himself.  He 
raved  like  a  madman  —  and  the  object  of  his 
invective  was  Stephen  Yeager. 

And  all  the  time  the  man  cursed  he  stamped 
painfully  about  the  room,  a  sight  to  wonder  at. 
His  face  was  so  swollen,  so  bruised  and  discolored, 
that  he  was  hardly  recognizable.  He  had  man- 
^aged  to  creep  into  another  suit  of  clothes  after 
the  doctor  had  dressed  his  wounds  and  sewed  up 
his  cuts,  but  these  could  not  hide  the  fact  that 
every  step  was  a  torment  to  his  pummeled  ribs 
|| and  lacerated  flesh.  He  was  game.  Another  man 
in  his  condition  would  have  been  in  the  hospital. 
Harrison  dragged  himself  about  because  he  would 
not  admit  that  he  was  badly  hurt. 

167 


Steve  Yeager 

Culvera  turned  to  the  Americans  and  explained 
the  situation  in  a  few  sentences.  He  was  enjoying 
himself  extremely  because  the  vanity  of  his  com- 
panion writhed  at  the  position  in  which  he  was 
placed. 

"Your  friend  Yeager  was  not  pleasing  to  our 
general  and  was  sentenced  to  be  shot.  He  escaped 
in  the  night.  Our  companion  Harrison,  also  I 
believe  a  compatriot  and  friend  of  yours,  is  a 
charmer  of  ladies'  hearts,  as  you  will  perceive 
with  one  glance  at  his  handsome  face.  Behold, 
then,  an  elopement,  romance,  and  moonshine. 
*  Linda  de  mi  alma,  amor  mia,  come,'  he  cries. 
The  lady  comes.  But,  alas!  for  true  love,  the 
brutal  vaquero  follows.  They  meet,  and  —  I 
draw  a  merciful  curtain  over  the  result." 

Harrison  was  off  again  in  crisp  and  crackling 
language.  When  at  last  his  vocabulary  was  ex- 
hausted, he  turned  savagely  upon  Threewit  and 
Farrar. 

"I'll  see  Pasquale  gets  the  right  dope  on  you 
fellows  too.  You're  a  pair  of  damned  fools  for 
coming  here,  believe  me.  If  the  old  man  can't  get 
Yeager,  he  '11  take  his  friends  instead.  Did  n't 
I  tell  you  I  'd  make  you  sick  of  what  you  did  to 
me,  Threewit.^  Good  enough.  I 've  got  you  both 
where  I  want  you  now.  You  '11  get  plenty  of  hell, 
take  my  word  for  it." 

Threewit  turned  with  dignity  to  the  Mexican. 
168 


Steve  Yeager 

"I  have  nothing  to  say  to  this  man,  Major 
Culvera.  But  you  are  a  gentleman.  We  have 
been  deceived.  I  ask  for  an  escort  as  far  as  the 
border  to  see  us  safely  back." 

Culvera  was  full  of  bland  hospitality.  "  Really 
I  can't  permit  you  to  leave  before  the  general 
returns.  He  would  never  forgive  me.  When 
friends  travel  so  far,  they  must  be  entertained. 
Not  so.?" 

**Are  we  prisoners?  Is  that  what  you  mean.?" 
demanded  Farrar  bluntly. 

The  major  shook  his  finger  toward  him  with 
smiling  deprecation.  "Prisoners!  Fie,  what  a 
word  among  friends.?  Let  us  rather  say  guests  of 
honor.  If  I  give  you  a  guard  it  is  as  a  precaution, 
to  make  sure  that  no  rash  peon  makes  the  mistake 
of  injuring  you  as  an  enemy." 

"We  understand,"  Threewit  answered.  "But 
I'll  just  tell  you  one  thing,  major.  Our  friends 
know  where  we  are,  and  Uncle  Sam  has  a  long 
arm.  It  will  reach  easily  to  Noche  Buena." 

So,  senor.?  Perhaps.  Maybe.  Who  knows? 
accidents  happen  —  regrettable  ones.  A  thou- 
tnd  apologies  to  your  Uncle  Sam.  Oh,  yes !  Ver* 
►rry.  Too  late  to  mend,  but  then  have  we  not 
lot  the  foolish  peon  who  made  the  mistake  in 
jgard  to  Senors  Farrar  and  Threewit?  Yes, 
indeed." 

Culvera  tossed  off  his  genial  prophecy  with  the 
169 


Steve  Yeager 

politest  indifference.  The  prisoners  read  in  his 
words  a  threat,  sinister  and  scarcely  veiled. 

'*You're  talking  murder,  which  is  absurd," 
answered  Three  wit.  "We've  done  no  harm  to 
you  or  General  Pasquale.  We  came  here  by  mis- 
take. He'll  let  us  go,  of  course." 

"You  sent  Yeager  down  here  to  spy  about 
those  cattle  you  lost.  Now  you've  come  down 
here  buttin'  in  to  see  for  yourself.  I  don't  expect 
Pasquale  is  going  to  stand  for  any  such  thing," 
broke  in  Harrison. 

Farrar  looked  the  prizefighter  straight  in  the 
eye. 

"You're  a  liar  and  you  know  it,  Harrison. 
Let  me  tell  you  something  else.  You've  stood 
here  and  cursed  Yeager  to  the  limit.  Why?  Be- 
cause he's  a  better  man  than  you  are.  I  don't 
know  just  what's  happened,  but  I  can  see  that 
he  has  given  you  the  beating  of  your  life.  And  he 
did  it  in  fair  fight  too." 

Harrison  interrupted  with  a  scream  of  rage. 
"I'll  cave  his  head  in  when  we  meet  sure  as  he's 
a  foot  high." 

"No,  you  won't.  He's  got  your  goat.  What 
I  've  got  to  say  about  Yeager  is  this.  If  you  put 
over  any  of  your  sculduggery  on  us,  he'll  wipe 
you  off  the  map  no  matter  in  what  lonesome  hole 
you  hide.   Just  stick  a  pin  in  that." 

The  bully  moved  slowly  toward  Farrar.    His 

170 


Steve  Yeager 

head  had  sunk  down  and  his  shoulders  fallen  to 
the  gorilla  hunch. 

"  You  Ve  said  enough  —  too  much,  damn  you/* 
he  roared. 

With  catlike  swiftness  Culvera  sprang  from 
where  he  sat,  flung  his  weight  low  at  the  furious 
man  from  an  angle,  and  tipped  him  from  his  feet 
so  that  he  fell  staggering  into  a  chair. 

**None  of  that,  amigo,"  said  the  Mexican 
curtly.  **  These  gentlemen  are  guests  of  General 
Pasquale.  Till  he  passes  judgment  they  shall  be 
treated  with  ver'  much  courtesy." 

Panting  heavily,  Harrison  glared  at  him.  Some 
day  he  intended  to  take  a  fall  out  of  this  supercili- 
ous young  Spanish  aristocrat,  but  just  now  he  was 
not  equal  to  the  task.  He  mumbled  incoherent 
threats. 

"I  don't  quite  catch  your  remarks.  Is  it  that 
they  are  to  my  address,  Senor  Harrison?"  asked 
the  young  officer  silkily. 

Heavily  Harrison  rose  and  passed  from  the 
room  without  looking  at  any  of  them.  For  the 
present  he  was  beaten  and  he  knew  it. 

The  Mexican  smiled  confidentially  at  his  pris- 
oners. **Between  friends, it's  ver' devilish  unpleas- 
ant to  do  business  with  such  a  —  what  you  call  — 
ruffian.    But  ver' necessar'.  Oh,  yes!  Quite  so." 

"Depends  on  one's  business,  I  expect,"  replied 
Farrar. 

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Steve  Yeager 

"You  have  said  it,  senor.  A  patriot  can't  be 
too  particulair.  He  uses  the  tools  that  come  to 
his  hands.  But  pardon!  My  tongue  is  Uke^a 
woman's.  It  runs  away  with  time." 

He  called  the  guard  and  had  the  prisoners 
removed.  They  were  put  in  the  same  adobe  hut 
where  Yeager  had  been  confined  a  few  days 
earlier. 

Threewit  Ut  a  cigar  and  paced  up  and  down 
gloomily.  ''This  is  a  hell  of  a  fix  we  're  in.  Before 
we  get  out  of  here  the  old  man  will  be  hollering 
his  head  off  for  that  'Retreat  of  the  Bandits' 
three-reeler." 

The  camera  man  laughed  ruefully.  "I  ain't 
worrying  any  about  the  old  man.  He 's  back  there 
safe  in  little  old  New  York.  It's  Frank  Farrar 
that 's  on  my  mind.  How  is  he  going  to  get  out 
of  here.?" 

The  director  stopped,  took  the  cigar  from  his 
mouth,  and  looked  across  questioningly  at  him. 

"You  don't  really  think  Pasquale  will  hurt  us, 
do  you.f^" 

"No;  not  unless  the  breaks  go  against  us.  I 
don't  reckon  Pasquale  has  anything  much  against 
Yeager  any  more  than  he  has  against  us.  Of 
course,  Harrison  will  do  his  darndest  to  make 
him  sore  at  us.  Notice  how  he  tried  to  put  it  over 
that  we  had  come  about  that  bunch  of  cattle  he 
stole.?" 

172 


Steve  Yeager 

"Sure  I  did.  But  it  is  not  likely  that  Harrison 
IS  ace  high  in  this  pack.  What  I'm  afraid  of  is 
that  the  old  general  will  soak  us  for  a  ransom- 
He's  nothing  but  an  outlaw,  anyhow." 

Within  the  hour  they  were  taken  before  Pas- 
quale.  He  was  still  covered  with  the  dust  of 
travel.  His  riding-gloves  lay  on  the  table  where 
he  had  tossed  them.  His  soft  white  hat  was  on 
his  head.  As  rapidly  as  possible  he  was  devouring 
a  chicken  dinner. 

It  was  his  discourteous  whim  to  keep  them 
waiting  in  the  back  of  the  room  until  he  had  fin- 
ished. They  were  offered  no  seats,  but  stood 
against  the  wall  under  the  eye  of  the  guard  who 
had  brought  them. 

The  general  finished  his  bottle  of  wine  before 
he  turned  savagely  upon  them. 

"You  are  friends  of  the  Gringo  Yeager.  Not 
so.^"  he  accused. 

It  was  too  late  for  a  deuial  now.  Threewit 
admitted  the  charge. 

"So.  Maldito!  What  are  you  doing  here?  I've 
had  enough  of  you  Yankees!"  he  exploded. 

Before  Threewit  had  more  than  begun  his  ex- 
planations he  brushed  aside  the  director's  words. 

"This  Yeager  is  a  devil.  Did  he  not  crawl  up 
on  me  unexpect'  and  strike  me  here  with  an  axe.'^  '* 
He  touched  the  back  of  his  head,  across  which  a 
wide  bandage  ran.  "Be  sure  I  will  cut  his  heart 

173 


Steve  Yeager 

out  some  day.  Gabriel  Pasquale  has  said  it.  And 
you  —  you  come  here  to  spy  what  we  have.  You 
claim  my  cattle.  Am  I  a  fool  that  I  do  not 
know.'^" 

"We  are  sorry  — " 

The  Mexican  struck  the  table  with  his  hairy 
brown  fist  so  that  the  dishes  rang.  '' Sorry i 
Jesu  Cristo !  In  good  time  I  shall  see  to  that.  If 
I  do  not  lay  hands  upon  this  devil  Yeager,  his 
friends  will  do  instead.  Am  I  one  to  be  laughed 
at  by  Gringos?" 

Threewit  spoke  as  firmly  as  he  could,  though 
the  fear  of  this  big,  unshaven  savage  was  in  his 
heart.  "We  are  not  spies,  general.  We  were 
brought  here  by  the  lie  that  Yeager  lay  here 
dying  and  had  sent  for  us.  In  no  way  have  we 
harmed  you.  Before  you  go  too  far,  remember 
that  our  Government  will  not  tolerate  any  foul 
play.  We  are  not  stray  sheepherders.  Our  friends 
are  close  to  the  President.  They  have  his  ear 
and  — " 

Pasquale  leaned  forward  and  snapped  his  fin- 
gers in  the  face  of  Threewit.  "That  for  your 
President  and  your  Government.  Pouf !  I  snap 
my  fingers.  I  spit  on  them.  Mexico  for  the  Mexi- 
cans.  To  the  devil  with  all  foreigners." 

He  nodded  to  the  guard.   "Away  with  them!" 

As  they  left  they  could  hear  him  roaring  for 
another  bottle. 


CHAPTER  XVn 

PEDRO   CABENZA 

The  Patriotic  Legion  of  the  Northern  States 
was  drinking  mescal  and  gambhng  for  the  paper 
money  Pasquale  had  issued  and  rolling  about  in 
the  dust  with  joyous  whoops  from  each  squirm- 
ing mass.  It  was  a  happy  Legion,  though  a  dirty 
one.  It  let  its  chief  do  all  the  worrying  about  how 
it  was  to  be  fed  and  transported.  Cheerfully  it 
went  its  ragged  way,  eating,  drinking,  sleeping, 
card-playing,  rolling  in  the  dust  of  its  friendly 
wrestling.  What  matter  that  many  members  of 
the  Legion  were  barefoot,  that  its  horses  were 
scarecrows,  that  gunny  sacks  and  ends  of  wires 
from  baled  hay  and  bits  of  frazzled  rope  all  made 
contribution  to  the  saddles  and  bridles  of  the 
cavalry!  Was  Pasquale  not  going  to  take  them 
straight  to  Mexico  City,  where  all  of  them  would 
be  made  rich  at  the  expense  of  the  accursed  Fed- 
erals who  had  trodden  upon  the  face  of  the  poor? 
Caramba!  Soon  now  the  devil  would  have  his  own. 

A  burro  appeared  at  one  end  of  the  hot  and 
dusty  street.  Beside  the  burro  limped  a  man, 
occasionally  beating  the  animal  on  the  rump  with 
a  switch  he  carried.   The  Legion  took  a  languid 

175 


Steve  Yeager 

interest.  This  was  some  farmer  from  a  hill  valley 
bringing  supplies  to  sell  to  the  patriotic  army. 
Would  his  wares  turn  out  to  be  mescal  or  vege- 
tables or  perhaps  a  leggy  steer  that  he  had 
butchered? 

As  he  drew  nearer  it  was  to  be  seen  that  a 
crate  hung  from  one  side  of  the  burro.  In  it  were 
chickens.  Balancing  this,  on  the  other  side,  were 
two  gunnysacks.  Through  a  hole  in  one  of  these 
pushed  the  green  face  of  a  cabbage.  Interest  in 
the  new  arrival  declined.  The  chickens  would  go 
to  the  quarters  of  the  officers,  and  cabbage  was 
an  old  story. 

When  the  burro  was  opposite  the  corral  one  of 
the  sacks  gave  way  with  a  rip.  From  out  of  the 
hole  poured  a  stream  of  apples  upon  the  dusty 
road.  That  part  of  the  Legion  which  was  nearest 
pounced  upon  the  fruit  with  shouts  of  laughter. 
The  owner  tried  to  fight  the  half -grown  soldiers 
from  his  property.  He  might  as  well  have  tried 
to  sweep  back  an  ocean  tide  with  a  broom.  In 
ten  seconds  every  apple  had  been  gleaned  from 
the  dust.  Within  thirty  more  everything  but  the 
cores  had  gone  to  feed  the  Legion. 

The  vendor  of  food  wailed  and  iBung  impreca- 
tions at  his  laughing  tormentors.  He  cursed  them 
fluently  and  shook  a  dirty  brown  fist  at  the  circle 
of  troopers.  He  threatened  to  tell  Pasquale  what 
they  had  done. 

176 


Steve  Yeager 

A  harsh  voice  interrupted  him.  "What  is  it 
you  will  tell  Pasquale?" 

The  army  began  to  melt  unobtrusively  away. 
The  general  himself,  accompanied  by  Major 
Ochampa,  sat  in  the  saddle  and  scowled  at  the 
farmer.  The  latter  told  his  story,  almost  in  tears. 
This  was  all  he  had,  these  chicken,  cabbages,  and 
apples.  He  had  brought  them  down  to  sell  and 
was  going  to  enlist.  His  Excellency  would  under- 
stand that  he,  Pedro  Cabenza,  was  a  patriot,  but, 
behold!  he  had  been  robbed. 

He  was  at  any  rate  a  very  ragged  patriot. 
There  was  a  hole  in  his  cotton  trousers  through 
which  four  inches  of  coffee-colored  leg  showed. 
His  shoes  were  in  the  last  stages.  The  hat  he 
doffed  was  an  extremely  ventilated  one. 

Pasquale  passed  judgment  instantly.  It  would 
never  do  for  word  to  get  out  that  those  bringing 
supplies  to  feed  his  army  were  not  paid  fairly. 

*'  Buy  the  chickens  and  the  cabbage,  Ochampa. 
Pay  the  man  for  his  apples.  Enlist  him  and  find 
him  a  mount." 

He  rode  away,  leaving  his  subordinate  to  deal 
with  the  details.  Major  Ochampa  was  the  pay- 
master for  the  army  as  well  as  Secretary  of  the 
Treasury  for  the  Government  of  which  Pasquale 
w^as  the  chief.  His  name  was  on  the  very  much- 
depreciated  currency  the  insurgents  had  issued. 

Until  recently  Ochampa  had  been  a  small 
177 


Steve  Yeager 

farmer  himself.  He  bargained  shrewdly  for  the 
supplies,  but  in  Cabenza  he  found  a  match.  The 
man  haggled  to  the  last  cent  and  then  called  on 
Heaven  to  witness  that  he  had  practically  given 
away  the  goods  for  nothing.  But  when  the  ser- 
geant led  him  away  to  enlist  he  was  beaming  at 
the  bargain  he  had  made. 

Cabenza  became  at  once  an  unobtrusive  imit 
in  the  army.  He  could  lie  for  hours  and  bask  in 
the  sunshine  with  the  patient  content  of  the 
Mexican  peon.  He  could  eat  frijoles  and  tortillas 
week  in  and  week  out,  offering  no  complaint  at 
the  monotony  of  his  diet.  He  v/as  as  lazy,  as 
hopeful,  and  as  unambitious  as  several  thousand 
other  riders  of  the  Legion.  Nobody  paid  the  least 
attention  to  him  except  to  require  of  him  the  not 
very  arduous  duties  of  camp  service.  Presently 
Pasquale  would  move  south  and  renew  the  cam- 
paign. Meanwhile  his  troopers  had  an  indolent, 
easy  time  of  it. 

On  the  evening  of  the  day  after  his  enlistment 
Pedro  Cabenza  strolled  across  toward  the  prison 
where  he  had  been  told  two  Americans  were  held 
captive.  Two  guards  sat  outside  in  front  of  the 
door  and  gossiped.  Cabenza,  moved  apparently 
by  a  desire  for  companionship,  indifferently 
drifted  toward  them.  He  sat  down.  Presently  he 
produced  a  bottle  furtively.  All  three  drank,  to 
good  health,  to  the  success  of  the  revolution,  a 

178 


Steve  Yeager 

third  time  to  the  day  when  they  should  march 
victorious  into  the  great  city  in  the  south. 

They  became  exhilarated.  Cabenza  found  it 
necessary  to  work  off  his  excitement  upon  the 
prisoners.  He  stood  on  tiptoe,  holding  the  win- 
dow bars  in  his  hands,  and  jeered  at  the  men 
within. 

"Ho,  ho.  Gringos !  May  the  devil  fly  away  with 
you!  Food  for  powder  —  food  for  powder!  Some 
fine  morning  the  general  will  give  orders  and  — 
we  shall  bury  you  in  the  sand  by  the  river.  Not 
so.^"  he  scoffed  in  his  own  language. 

One  of  the  Americans  within  drew  near  the 
window. 

"Listen,"  he  said.  " Do  you  want  to  earn  some 
money  —  ten  —  twenty  —  one  hundred  dollars 
in  gold?  Will  you  take  a  letter  for  me  to  Los 
Robles?" 

"No.  The  general  would  skin  me  alive.  I  spit 
upon  your  offer.  I  throw  dirt  upon  you." 

Cabenza  stooped,  in  his  hand  scooped  up  some 
dust  from  the  ground,  and  flung  it  between  the 
bars. 
^  One  of  the  guards  pulled  him  back  savagely. 
f^  "Icabron!  Know  you  not  the  orders  of  the 
general.'*  None  are  to  talk  with  the  Gringos. 
Away,  fool !  Because  of  the  drink  Pablo  and  I  will 
forget.  Away!" 

Cabenza  showed  a  face  ludicrously  terror- 
179 


Steve  Yeager 

stricken.  The  punishments  of  Pasquale  were 
notoriously  severe.  If  it  were  known  he  had 
broken  the  command  he  would  at  least  be  beaten 
with  whips. 

''I  did  not  know.  I  did  not  know/'  he  ex- 
plained humbly,  thrusting  the  liquor  bottle  at 
one  of  them.  "Here,  companero,  drink  and  for- 
get that  I  have  spoken." 

He  turned  and  scurried  away  into  the  darkness. 


CHAPTER  XVm 

HARRISON   OVERPLAYS   HIS   HAND 

Through  the  barred  window  Farrar  watched 
the  guard  drag  Cabenza  back.  He  was  very 
despondent.  They  had  been  prisoners  now  nearly 
a  week  and  could  see  no  termination  of  their  jail 
sentence  in  sight.  The  food  given  them  was 
wretched.  They  were  anxious,  dirty,  and  un- 
kempt. Though  he  would  not  admit  it  even  to 
himself,  the  camera  man  was  oppressed  by  the 
shadow  of  a  possible  impending  fate.  The  whim 
of  a  tyrant  regardless  of  human  life  might  at  any 
hour  send  them  to  a  firing  squad. 

Threewit  sat  gloomily  on  the  stool,  elbows  on 
knees  and  chin  resting  on  his  fists.  He  could  have 
wept  for  himself  almost  without  shame.  For 
forty-five  years  he  had  gone  his  safe  way,  a 
policeman  always  within  call.  Not  once  had  life 
in  the  raw  reached  out  and  gripped  him.  Not 
once  had  he  faced  the  stark  probability  of  sudden, 
violent  death.  Clubs  and  after-theater  suppers 
and  poker  and  golf  had  offered  him  pleasant 
diversion.  And  now  —  a  cruel  fate  had  thrown 
him  in  the  way  of  a  barbarian  with  no  sense 
of  either  justice  or  kindness.    He  felt  himself 

181 


Steve  Yeager 

too  soft  of  fiber  to  cope  with  such  elemental 
forces. 

"Look!  What  is  that,  Threewit?'* 

Farrar  was  pointing  to  something  on  the  table 
that  gleamed  white  in  the  moonlight.  He  stepped 
forward  and  picked  it  up.  The  article  was  a  stone 
around  which  was  wrapped  a  paper  tied  by  a 
string. 

"The  Mexican  must  have  thrown  it  in  with  the 
dirt.  It  was  n't  there  before,"  repUed  the  director 
quickly. 

Farrar  untied  the  string  and  smoothed  out 
the  paper,  holding  it  toward  the  moonhght, 
"There's  writing  on  it,  but  I  can't  make  it  out. 
Strike  a  match  for  me." 

His  companion  struck  on  his  trousers  a  match 
fmd  the  camera  man  read  by  its  glowing  flame. 

Keep  a  stiflF  upper  lip.  Cactus  Center 
is  on  the  job.  Don't  know  when  my 
chance  will  come,  but  I'm  looking  for 
it.  Chew  this  up. 

S.  Y. 

Farrar  gave  a  subdued  whoop  of  joy.  "It's 
old  Steve.  He  has  n't  forgotten  us,  good  old  boy. 
I'll  bet  he  has  got  something  up  his  sleeve." 

"Hope  that  greaser  does  n't  give  us  away  to 
Pasquale  or  Harrison." 

182 


Steve  Yeager 

*' He  won't.  Trust  Cactus  Center.  He's  bridle- 
wise,  that  lad  is.  I  feel  a  lot  better  just  to  know 
he  has  got  us  on  his  mind." 

**  What  do  you  suppose  he  is  planning?" 

"  Don't  know.  Of  course  he  has  to  lie  low.  But 
he  pulled  oflF  his  own  getaway  and  I  '11  back  him 
to  figure  out  ours."  The  camera  man  was  nothing 
if  not  a  loyal  admirer  of  the  range-rider. 

They  talked  in  whispers,  eager  and  excited 
with  the  possibility  of  rescue  that  had  come. 
Somehow,  of  all  the  men  they  had  known,  they 
banked  more  on  Steve  Yeager  in  such  an  emer- 
gency than  any  other.  It  was  not  alone  his  physi- 
cal vigor,  though  that  counted,  since  it  gave  him 
so  complete  a  mastery  over  himself.  Farrar  had 
seen  him  once  stripped  in  a  swimming-pool  and 
been  stirred  to  wonder.  Beneath  the  satiny  skin 
the  muscles  moved  in  ripples.  The  biceps  crawled 
back  and  forth  like  living  things,  beautiful  in  the 
graceful  flow  of  their  movement.  Whatever  he 
had  done  had  been  done  easily,  apparently  with- 
out effort.  This  reserve  power  was  something 
more  than  a  combination  of  bone  and  sinew  and 
flesh.  It  was  a  product  of  the  spirit,  a  moral  force 
to  be  reckoned  with.  It  helped  to  make  impossi- 
ble things  easy  of  accomplishment. 

P       The  panic  of  Cabenza  vanished  as  soon  as  he 
was  out  of  sight  of  the  guards.  As  he  turned  down 

183 


Steve  Yeager 

toward  the  sandy  river-bed  a  little  smile  lay  in 
his  eyes. 

From  the  place  where  it  was  buried  beneath 
the  root  of  a  cottonwood,  he  dug  out  a  bandanna 
handkerchief  containing  several  bottles,  little 
brushes,  and  a  looking-glass.  Sitting  there  in  the 
moonlight,  he  worked  busily  renewing  the  tints 
of  his  hands  and  face  and  also  of  the  coffee- 
colored  patch  of  skin  that  peeped  through  his 
torn  trouser  leg. 

This  done,  he  sauntered  back  to  the  little  town 
and  down  the  adobe  street.  A  horseman  cantered 
up  to  the  headquarters  of  the  general  just  as 
Pasquale  stepped  out  with  Culvera.  The  latter 
snapped  his  fingers  toward  Cabenza  and  that 
trooper  ran  forward. 

"Hold  the  horse,"  ordered  the  officer  in  Mexi- 
can. 

Cabenza  relieved  the  messenger,  who  stepped 
forward  and  delivered  what  had  been  given  him 
to  say.  The  hearing  of  the  man  holding  the  horse 
was  acute  and  he  listened  intently. 

"Senor  Harrison  sends  greeting  to  the  general. 
He  is  in  touch  with  the  play-actor  Lennox  and 
hopes  soon  to  get  the  Gringo  Yeager.  If  Lennox 
plays  false  .  .  ." 

The  words  ran  into  a  murmer  and  Cabenza 
could  hear  nb  more. 

The  messenger  was  dismissed.  Cabenza 
184 


Steve  Yeager 

stooped  to  tie  a  loose  lace  in  his  shoe.  Pasquale 
and  Culvera  passed  back  from  the  end  of  the 
porch  into  the  house.  As  they  went  the  trooper 
heard  another  stray  fragment  in  the  voice  of  the 
general. 

**If  Harrison  crosses  the  line  after  him  at 
night  ..." 

That  was  all,  but  it  told  Cabenza  that  Harrison 
was  negotiating  with  Lennox  for  the  delivery  of 
Yeager  in  exchange  for  Threewit  and  Farrar. 
The  leading  man  was,  of  course,  playing  for  time 
until  Steve,  under  the  guise  of  Cabenza,  could 
arrange  to  win  the  freedom  of  the  prisoners. 

This  would  take  time,  for  success  would  depend 
upon  several  dove-tailing  factors.  To  attempt  a 
rescue  and  to  fail  would  be  practically  to  sign  the 
death-warrant  of  Farrar  and  Threewit. 

Yeager,  alias  Cabenza,  returned  to  the  stable 
where  he  and  a  score  of  patriots  of  the  Northern 
Legion  had  sleeping-quarters.  He  would  much 
have  preferred  to  take  his  blankets  out  into  the 
pure  night  air  and  to  bed  under  the  stars.  But  he 
was  playing  his  part  thoroughly.  He  could  not 
afford  to  be  nice  or  scrupulous,  for  fear  of  calling 
special  attention  to  himself. 

As  for  the  peons  beside  him,  they  snored  peace- 
fully without  regard  to  the  lack  of  cleanliness  of 
their  bedroom.  The  first  day  of  his  arrival 
Yeager  had  knocked  a  hole  in  the  flimsy  wall  and 

185 


Steve  Yeager 

had  given  it  out  as  the  result  of  a  chance  kick  of 
a  bronco.  This  served  to  let  air  into  a  building 
which  had  no  other  means  of  ventilation.  It  also 
allowed  some  small  percentage  of  the  various 
concentrated  odors  to  escape. 

The  Arizonian  was  a  light  sleeper.  But  like 
some  men  in  perfect  trim  he  had  the  faculty  of 
going  to  sleep  whenever  he  desired.  Often  he  had 
taken  a  nap  in  the  saddle  while  night-herding. 
Fatigued  from  eighteen  hours  of  wrestling  the 
cattle  to  safety  through  a  bitter  storm,  he  had 
learned  to  fall  easily  into  rest  the  instant  his  head 
hit  the  pillow.  It  was  a  heritage  that  had  come  to 
him  from  his  rugged,  outdoor  life.  So  he  slept 
now,  a  gentle,  untroubled  slumber,  until  daylight 
sifted  through  the  hole  in  the  wall  at  his  side. 

He  was  on  duty  that  day  herding  the  remuda, 
and  it  was  not  until  late  afternoon  that  he  re- 
turned to  camp.  From  a  distance,  dropping  down 
into  the  draw  which  formed  the  location  of  the 
town,  he  saw  a  dust  cloud  moving  down  the  street. 
At  the  apex  of  it  rode  a  little  bunch  of  travelers, 
evidently  just  in  from  the  desert.  Incuriously  his 
eyes  watched  the  party  as  it  moved  toward  the 
headquarters  of  Pasquale.  Some  impulse  led  him 
to  put  his  scarecrow  of  a  pony  at  a  canter. 

The  party  reached  the  house  of  Pasquale  and 
the  two  leaders  dismounted.  Yeager  was  still  at 
some  distance,  but  he  had  an  uncertain  impression 

186 


Steve  Yeager 

that  one  of  them  was  a  woman.  They  stood  on 
the  porch  talking.  The  larger  one  seemed  to  be 
overruling  the  protest  of  the  other,  so  far  as  Steve 
eould  tell  at  that  distance.  The  two  passed  to- 
gether into  the  house. 

It  was  not  at  all  unusual  for  women  to  go  into 
that  house,  according  to  the  camp-fire  stories  that 
were  whispered  in  the  army.  Pasquale  was  an 
unmoral  old  barbarian.  K  he  liked  women  and 
wine  the  Legion  made  no  complaint.  The  women 
were  either  camp-followers  oi  visitors  from  the 
nearest  town.  In  either  case  they  were  not  of  a 
sort  whose  reputation  was  likely  to  suffer. 

Yeager  cooked  his  simple  supper  and  ate  it. 
He  sat  down  with  his  back  to  an  adobe  wall  and 
rolled  a  cigarette.  The  peons,  loafing  in  the  cool 
of  the  evening,  naturally  fell  into  gossip.  Steve, 
intent  on  his  own  thoughts,  did  not  hear  what 
wus  said  until  a  word  snatched  him  out  of  his 
indifference.  The  word  was  the  name  of  Harrison. 

"This  afternoon?"  asked  one. 

"Not  an  hour  ago." 

"Brought  a  woman  with  him,  Pablo  says,** 
said  a  third  indifferently. 

"Yes."  The  first  speaker  laughed  with  an  im- 
plication he  did  not  care  to  express. 

One  of  the  others  leaned  forward  and  spoke  in 
a  lower  tone.  "This  Harrison  promised  the  gen- 
eral to  bring  back  with  him  the  Gringo  Yeager. 

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Steve  Yeager 

Old  Gabriel  is  crazy  to  get  the  Yankee  devil  in 
his  hands.  Not  so?  Harrison  brings  him  a 
woman  instead  to  soften  his  bad  temper,  maybe." 

The  American  gave  no  sign  of  interest.  His 
fingers  finished  rolHng  the  cigarette.  Not  another 
muscle  of  the  inert  body  moved. 

"A  white  woman  this  time,  Pablo  says." 

The  first  speaker  shrugged.  ''Look  you,  bro- 
ther. All  is  grist  that  comes  to  the  mill  of  GabrieL 
As  for  these  Gringo  women"  —  He  whispered  a 
bit  of  slander  that  brought  the  blood  to  the  face 
of  Steve. 

The  peons  guffawed  with  delight.  This  kind  of 
joke  was  adapted  both  to  their  prejudices  and 
their  lack  of  intelligence.  They  were  as  ignorant 
of  the  world  as  children,  fully  as  gay,  irresponsi- 
ble, and  kindhearted.  But  they  had,  too,  a  capac- 
ity for  cruelty  and  frank  sensuousness  that  be- 
longs only  to  the  childhood  of  a  race. 

Presently  Yeager  arose,  yawned,  and  drifted 
inconspicuously  toward  the  stable  that  had  been 
converted  into  a  bedroom  by  the  simple  process 
of  throwing  a  lot  of  blankets  on  the  floor.  But 
as  soon  as  he  was  out  of  sight,  Steve  doubled 
across  the  road  into  the  alley  that  ran  back  of  the 
house  where  Pasquale  was  putting  up. 

The  news  about  Harrison's  return  was  dis- 
quieting. Ever  since  Yeager's  second  arrival  at 
Noche  Buena  he  had  been  gone.    What  did  his 

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Steve  Yeager 

appearance  now  mean?  Who  was  the  American 
woman  he  had  brought  back  with  him?  Steve 
was  inclined  to  think  she  was  probably  some  one 
of  the  man's  dubious  acquaintances  from  Arixico. 
But  of  this  he  intended  to  make  sure. 

He  passed  quietly  up  the  alley  and  into  the 
yard  back  of  the  big  house  the  insurgent  general 
had  appropriated  for  his  headquarters.  A  light 
was  shining  from  one  of  the  back  upper  rooms. 
From  it,  too,  there  came  faintly  the  sound  of  a 
voice,  high  and  frightened,  in  which  sobs  and 
hysteria  struggled. 

By  means  of  a  post  the  Arizonian  climbed  to 
the  top  of  the  little  back  porch.  ^  Leaning  as  far 
as  he  could  toward  the  window  of  the  lighted 
room,  he  could  see  Pasquale  and  Harrison.  The 
woman,  whoever  she  might  be,  was  in  the  cor- 
ner of  the  room  beyond  his  vision.  The  prize- 
fighter showed  both  in  face  and  manner  a  certain 
stiflf  sullenness.  He  was  insisting  upon  some  point 
to  which  there  was  determined  opposition.  As 
the  general  turned  half  toward  him  once,  the 
range-rider  saw  in  his  little  black  eyes  an  alert 
and  greedy  cunning  he  did  not  understand. 

The  woman  broke  out  into  violent  protest. 

"I  won't  do  it.  I  won't.  If  you  are  a  liberator, 
as  they  say  you  are,  you  won't  let  him  force  me 
to  it,  general,  will  you?" 

At  the  sound  of  that  voice  Yeager's  heart 
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Steve  Yeager 

jumped.  He  would  have  known  it  among  ten 
thousand.  Little  beads  of  perspiration  broke  out 
on  his  forehead.  The  primitive  instinct  to  kill 
seared  across  his  brain  and  left  him  for  the  mo- 
ment dizzy  and  trembling. 

There  was  a  grin  on  Pasquale's  ugly  mug.  His 
tobacco-stained  teeth  showed  behind  the  lifted 
lips. 

"If  young  ladies  will  insist  on  running  away 
with  officers  of  mine  — " 

"I  did  n't.  Ask  the  men.  I  fought.  See  where 
I  bit  his  hand,"  she  protested,  fighting  against 
hysterical  fears. 

"So.^  But  Senor  Harrison  says  you  were 
engaged  to  him." 

**I  hate  him.  I've  found  him  out.  I'd  rather 
die  than  — " 

Yeager  caught  the  arm  fling  that  concluded 
her  sentence  of  passionate  protest. 

Pasquale,  little  black  eyes  twinkling,  shrugged 
broad  shoulders  and  turned  to  Harrison. 

"You  see.  The  lady  has  changed  her  mind, 
senor.  What  will  you.?" 

"What's  that  got  to  do  with  it.?  She's  mine. 
Send  for  a  priest  and  have  us  married,"  the  other 
man  demanded  bluntly. 

"Not  so  fast,  amigo,"  remonstrated  Pasquale 
softly.  "Give  her  time  —  a  few  days  —  quien 
sahe?  —  she  may  change  her  mind  again." 

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Steve  Yeager 

Harrison  choked  on  his  anger.  He  was  suspi- 
cious of  this  suavity,  of  this  sudden  respect  for 
a  girl's  wishes.  Since  when  had  the  old  despot 
become  so  scrupulous  as  to  risk  offending  one 
who  had  served  him  a  good  deal  and  might  aid 
him  in  more  serious  matters.'^  The  prizefighter 
could  guess  only  one  reason  for  the  general's  atti- 
tude. His  jealousy  began  to  smoke  at  once. 

"She  can  change  her  mind  afterward  just  as 
well.  If  we're  married  now,  then  I'm  sure  of 
her,"  the  prizefighter  insisted  doggedly. 

Impulsively  the  girl  swept  into  that  part  of  the 
room  within  the  view  of  Steve.  She  knelt  in  front 
of  Pasquale  and  caught  at  his  hand. 

"Send  me  home  —  back  to  my  mother.  I'm 
only  a  girl.  You  don't  make  war  on  girls,  do 
you?"  she  pleaded. 

Had  she  only  known  it,  the  very  sweetness  of 
her  troubled  youth,  the  shadows  under  the  starry 
eyes  edging  the  wild-rose  cheeks,  the  allure  of 
her  lines  and  soft  flesh,  fought  potently  against 
her  desire  for  a  safe-conduct  home.  The  greedy, 
treacherous  little  eyes  of  the  insurgent  chief 
glittered. 

He  shook  his  head.  "  No,  senorita.  That  is  not 
possible.  But  you  shall  stay  here  —  imder  the 
protection  of  Gabriel  Pasquale  himself.  You  shall 
have  choice  —  Senor  Harrison  if  you  wish,  an- 
other if  you  prefer  it  so.  Take  time.  Perhaps  — 

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Steve  Yeager 

ndio  knows?"  He  smiled  and  bowed  with  the 
gallantry  of  a  bear  as  he  kissed  her  hand. 

"No  —  no.  I  want  to  go  home,"  she  sobbed. 

''Young  ladies  don't  always  know  what  is  best 
for  them.  Behold,  we  shall  marry  you  to  a  sol- 
dier, one  of  rank.  From  the  general  down,  you 
shall  have  choice,"  Pasquale  promised  largely. 

Harrison  scowled.  He  did  not  at  all  like  the 
turn  things  were  taking.  "Not  as  long  as  I'm 
alive,"  he  said  savagely.  "She's  mine,  I  tell 
you." 

The  Mexican  looked  directly  at  him  with  a 
face  as  hard  as  jade.  "  So  you  don't  expect  to  live 
long,  senor.  Is  that  it.^  We  shall  all  mourn.  Yes, 
indeed."  He  turned  decisively  to  the  white- 
faced  girl.  "  Go  to  sleep,  muchacha.  To-morrow 
we  shall  talk.  Gabriel  Pasquale  is  your  friend. 
All  shall  be  well  with  you.  None  shall  insult  you 
on  peril  of  his  life.  Buenos!" 

With  a  gesture  of  his  hand  he  pointed  the  door 
to  Harrison. 

The  eyes  of  the  two  men  clashed  stormily.  It 
was  those  of  the  American  that  finally  gave  way 
sulkily.  Pasquale  had  power  to  enforce  his  com- 
mands and  the  other  knew  he  would  not  hesitate 
to  use  it. 

The  prizefighter  slouched  out  of  the  room  with 
the  general  at  his  heels. 

With  a  little  gesture  that  betrayed  the  despair 
192 


Steve  Yeager 

of  her  sick  heart  the  girl  turned  and  flung  herself 
face  down  on  the  bed.  Sobs  shook  her  slender 
body.  Her  fingers  clutched  unconsciously  at  the 
rough  weave  of  the  blanket  upon  which  she 
lay. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE   TEXAN 

Steve  tapped  gently  on  the  window  pane  with 
the  ball  of  his  middle  finger.  Instantly  the  sob- 
bing was  interrupted.  The  black  head  of  hair 
lifted  from  the  pillow  to  listen  the  better.  He 
could  guess  how  fearfully  the  heart  of  the  girl 
was  beating. 

Again  he  tapped  on  the  glass.  With  a  lithe 
twist  of  her  body  the  girl  sat  up  on  the  bed.  She 
waited  tensely  for  a  repetition  of  the  sound,  not 
quite  sure  from  where  it  had  come. 

Her  questing  eyes  found  at  last  the  source  of  it, 
a  warning  forefinger  close  to  the  pane  that  seemed 
to  urge  for  silence.  Rising,  she  moved  slowly  to 
the  window,  uneasy,  doubtful,  yet  with  hope 
beginning  to  stir  at  her  heart.  She  formed  a  cup 
for  her  eyes  with  her  palms  so  as  to  hold  back  the 
light  while  she  peered  through  the  glass  into  the 
darkness  without. 

Over  to  the  left  she  made  out  the  contour 
of  a  face,  a  brown  Mexican  face  with  quick, 
eager  eyes  that  spoke  comfort  to  her.  Her  first 
thought  was  that  it  belonged  to  a  friend.  Hard 
on  the  heels  of  that  she  gave  a  little  cry  of  joy 

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Steve  Yeager 

and  began  with  trembling  fingers  to  raise  the 
window. 

"Steve!"  she  cried,  laughing  and  crying  to- 
gether. 

And  as  soon  as  she  had  adjusted  the  window 
she  caught  his  hand  between  both  of  hers  and 
pressed  it  hard.  Steve  was  here.  He  would  save 
her  as  he  had  before.  She  was  all  right  now. 

"Ruth!  Little  Ruth!"  he  cried  softly,  in  a 
whisper. 

"Did  you  hear.^^  Do  you  know.'^"  she  asked. 

"  Only  that  he  brought  you  here,  the  hellhound, 
and  that  Pasquale  — " 

He  stopped,  his  sentence  unfinished.  There 
was  no  need  to  alarm  her  about  that  old  phil- 
anderer. Time  enough  for  that  if  she  scratched 
the  surface  and  found  the  savage  beneath. 

"  —  Won't  let  me  go  home,"  she  finished  for 
him. 

"But  what  are  you  doing  here?  How  did 
Harrison  trap  you.'^" 

"I  had  been  strolling  with  Daisy  Ellington 
after  supper.  It  was  not  late  —  hardly  dark  yet. 
She  stopped  at  the  hotel  to  talk  with  Miss  Win- 
ters and  I  started  to  walk  home  alone.  I  took  the 
short  cut  across  the  empty  block  just  below 
Brinker's.  He  was  waiting  among  the  cotton- 
woods  there  —  he  and  two  Mexicans.  As  soon 
as  he  stepped  into  the  light  I  was  afraid." 

11^5 


Steve  Yeager 

*^'Why  did  n't  you  cry  out?" 

*'I  did  n't  like  to  make  a  scene  about  nothing. 
And  after  that  first  moment  I  had  no  time.  He 
caught  hold  of  me  and  put  his  hand  across  my 
mouth.  Horses  were  there  ready  saddled.  He 
lifted  me  in  front  of  him  and  kept  my  mouth 
covered  till  we  were  clear  of  the  town.  It  did  n't 
matter  how  much  I  screamed  when  we  had 
reached  the  desert." 

"I  did  n't  think  even  Harrison  had  the  nerve 
to  kidnap  an  Arizona  girl  and  bring  her  across  the 
line.  If  he  had  happened  to  meet  a  bunch  of  cow- 
punchers  —  " 

"He  didn't  start  after  me.  It  was  you  he 
wanted.  But  he  found  out  you  were  n't  in  town 
and  took  me  instead.  All  the  way  down  he  talked 
about  you  —  boasted  how  he  would  marry  me  in 
spite  of  you  and  how  he  would  take  you  and  have 
Pasquale  flay  you  alive." 

Yeager  lifted  a  warning  finger.  "Remember 
you  have  a  friend  here.   Good-night." 

He  lowered  himself  quickly,  slid  down  the 
porch  post,  and  disappeared  into  the  darkness 
almost  instantly. 

Ruth  heard  voices.  One  gave  commands,  the 
others  answered  mildly  with  "Si,  Excellency.'* 
Dim  figures  moved  about  below,  one  heavy, 
bulky,  dominating.  He  gestured,  snapped  out 
"Curt  directions,  and  presently  vanished.    Two 

196 


Steve  Yeager 

guards  were  left.  They  paced  up  and  down  be- 
neath her  window.  She  understood  that  Pasquale 
was  providing  against  any  chance  of  escape.  Half 
an  hour  ago  she  would  have  shuddered.  Now 
she  could  even  smile  faintly  at  his  precautions, 
Steve  would  evade  them  when  the  right  time 
came. 

Her  confidence  in  him,  since  it  looked  only  to 
the  results,  was  greater  than  that  he  felt  in  his 
own  power.  The  range-rider  saw  the  difficulties 
before  him.  He  was  alone  in  a  camp  of  wild, 
ignorant  natives  who  moved  at  the  nod  of  Pas- 
quale. When  he  let  himself  think  of  Ruth  as  a 
prisoner  at  the  mercy  of  that  savage  old  outlaw's 
whim,  the  heart  of  Steve  failed  him.  What  could 
one  man  do  against  so  many? 

He  felt  that  she  was  perfectly  safe  for  the  pres- 
«it,  but  Yeager  found  it  impossible  to  sleep  in  the 
stable.  Taking  his  blankets  with  him,  he  slipped 
noiselessly  out  to  the  cottonwood  climap  back  of 
Pasquale's  headquarters.  Here,  at  least,  he  could 
see  the  light  in  her  window  and  be  sure  that  all 
was  well  with  her. 

As  he  moved  noiselessly  from  one  tree  to  an- 
other which  gave  a  better  view  of  the  window, 
Steve  stimabled  against  the  prostrate  body  of  a 
man. 

Some  one  ripped  out  a  sullen  oath  and  a  grip 
of  steel  caught  at  the  ankle  of  the  cowpuncher. 

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Steve  Yeager 

Taken  by  surprise,  Yeager  was  dragged  to  tibe 
ground. 

"  What  are  you  doing  here?  "  demanded  a  voke 
Steve  recognized  instantly  as  belonging  to  Har- 
rison. 

The  prisoner  made  no  resistance.  He  ran  into 
a  patter  of  frightened,  apologetic  Spanish. 

"What's  your  name?" 

"Pedro  Cabenza,  seiior,"  replied  the  owner  of 
that  name.  "It  is  so  hot  in  the  stable.  So  I  bring 
my  blankets  here  and  sleep.'* 

"Hmp!"  Harrison  took  time  for  reflection, 
"Know  where  I  put  up?" 

"Si,  senor." 

The  prizefighter  gave  hird  a  dollar.  "Stay 
here.  Keep  an  eye  on  that  lighted  window  up- 
stairs. If  anything  happens  —  if  you  hear  a 
noise  —  if  a  woman  screams,  come  and  knock  me 
up  right  away.   Understand?" 

The  docile  Cabenza  repeated  his  instructions 
like  a  parrot. 

"Good  enough,"  Harrison  nodded.  "I'll  give 
you  another  dollar  when  you  come.  But  don't 
wake  me  for  nothing." 

"No,  seiior." 

"^"And  you'd  better  keep  your  mouth  shut  un- 
less you  want  your  head  beat  off,"  advised  the 
white  man  as  he  left. 

The  one  who  had  given  his  name  as  Cabenza 
198 


Steve  Yeager 

grinned  to  himself.  He  was  now  Harrison's  hired 
watcher.  Both  of  them  were  in  league  to  frustrate 
any  deviltry  on  the  part  of  Pasquale.  He  won- 
dered what  the  prizefighter  would  give  to  know 
that  he  had  his  enemy  so  wholly  in  his  power, 
that  he  had  only  to  lay  hands  on  him  and  cry  out 
to  doom  him  to  a  painful  and  a  violent  death. 

Yeager  dozed  and  wakened  and  dozed  again. 
Always  when  he  looked  the  light  was  still  burning. 
Toward  morning  he  saw  the  figure  of  Ruth  in  the 
window.  When  she  turned  away  the  light  went 
out.  He  judged  she  had  put  her  anxieties  from 
her  and  given  herself  to  sleep  at  last.  But  not 
until  the  camp  began  to  stir  with  the  renewal  of 
life  for  another  day  did  he  leave  his  post  and 
return  to  the  stable. 

During  the  morning  he  slept  under  a  cotton- 
wood  and  made  up  arrears  of  rest  lost  while  on 
guard.  About  noon  Harrison  came  down  the 
street  and  stopped  at  sight  of  him.  The  man  was 
livid  with  anger.  Yeager  could  guess  the  reason. 
He  had  spent  a  stormy  ten  minutes  with  old 
Pasquale  demanding  his  rights  and  had  issued 
from  the  encounter  without  profit.  From  the 
place  where  Steve  was  sitting  he  had  heard  the 
high,  excited  voices.  It  had  occurred  to  him  that 
the  protest  of  Harrison  had  gone  about  as  far  as 
it  could  be  safely  carried,  for  Gabriel  was  both 
a  ruthless  and  a  hot-tempered  despot. 

I 


Steve  Yeager 

Harrison  sat  down  sullenly  without  speaking 
and  stared  straight  in  front  of  him.  He  was 
boiling  with  impotent  fury.  Pasquale  had  the 
whip  hand  and  meant  to  carry  things  his  own 
way.  Of  that  he  no  longer  had  any  doubt.  In 
bringing  Ruth  to  Noche  Buena  he  had  made  a 
great  mistake. 

"Do  you  want  to  make  some  money,  you  — 
what's  your  name.^"  he  presently  rasped  out. 

Yeager  answered  with  the  universal  formula  of 
the  land.  ''Si,  seiior.  And  my  name  is  Cabenza 
—  Pedro  Cabenza." 

The  prizefighter  glanced  warily  around,  then 
lowered  his  voice.  "I  mean  a  lot  of  money  — 
twenty  dollars,  maybe." 

"Gold?"  asked  the  peon,  wide-eyed. 

"Gold.  How  far  would  you  go  to  earn  that 
much?" 

"A  long  way,  senor." 

Harrison  caught  him  by  the  wrist  with  a  grip 
that  drove  the  blood  back.  "Listen,  Cabenza. 
Would  you  go  as  far  as  the  camp  of  Garcia  Far- 
Tugia?"  The  close-gripped,  salient  jaw  was 
thrust  forward.  Black  eyes  blazed  from  a  set, 
snarling  face. 

So,  after  all,  the  man  was  trafficking  with  the 
Federal  governor  all  the  time  just  as  he  was  with 
the  Constitutionalists.  Yeager  had  once  or  twice 
suspected  as  much. 

£00 


Steve  Yeager 

"To  the  camp  of  Governor  Farrugia/'  gasped 
Cabenza.   "But  —  what  for,  senor?" 

*'To  carry  him  a  letter.  Never  mind  what  for. 
You  will  get  your  pay.  Is  it  not  enough.?" 

"And  — Pasquale?" 

"Need  never  know.  You  can  slip  away  this 
afternoon  and  be  back  by  to-morrow  night." 

Cabenza  shook  his  head  regretfully.  "No.  I 
am  one  of  the  horse  wranglers.  My  boss  would 
miss  me  if  I  was  not  here.  I  cannot  go." 

The  other  man  swore.  At  the  same  time  he 
recognized  the  argument  as  effective.  He  must 
find  a  messenger  who  could  absent  himself  with- 
out stirring  up  questions. 

"Then  keep  your  mouth  clamped,"  ordered 
Harrison.  "  I  may  be  able  to  use  you  here.  Any- 
how, I  want  you  to  be  ready  to  help  if  I  need 
you." 

He  slipped  a  dollar  into  the  brown  palm  of  the 
peon  and  left  him. 

Steve  looked  after  him  with  narrowed  eyes. 
"  Mr.  Harrison  is  liable  to  bump  into  trouble  if  he 
don't  look  out.  He's  gone  crazy  with  the  heat, 
looks  like.  First  thing,  he'll  pick  on  the  wrong 
greaser  and  Mr.  Messenger  will  take  the  letter 
to  Pasquale  instead  of  Farrugia.  That 's  about 
what '11  happen." 

Something  else  happened  first,  however,  that 
distracted  the  attention  of  Mr.  Yeager,  alias 

£01 


Steve  Yeager 

Cabenza,  from  this  regrettable  possibility.  A 
man  rode  into  camp,  followed  by  a  Mexican  lead- 
ing a  pack-horse.  The  first  rider  was  straight,  tall, 
and  wide-shouldered;  also  he  was  deep-chested 
and  lean-loined,  forty-five  or  thereabout,  and 
had  *' Texan"  written  all  over  his  weather-beaten 
face  and  costume.  At  sight  of  him  Steve  gave  a 
silent  whoop  of  joy.  A  white  man  had  come  to 
Noche  Buena,  a  Texan  (he  was  ready  to  swear), 
and  he  wore  his  big  serviceable  six-guns  loWr 
Also,  he  carried  on  his  face  and  in  his  bearing  the 
look  of  reckless  competence  that  comes  only  from 
death  faced  in  the  open  fearlessly  and  often. 

Inside  of  five  minutes  Cabenza  had  gathered 
information  as  follows:  Adam  Holcomb  was  a 
soldier  of  fortune  who  had  fought  all  over  South 
America  and  Mexico.  During  the  Spanish  War 
he  had  been  a  Rough  Rider  in  Cuba  and  later 
had  been  a  volunteer  officer  in  the  Philippines. 
The  army  routine  had  no  attraction  for  him. 
What  he  liked  was  actual  fighting.  So  the  out- 
break of  the  Revolution  had  drawn  him  across 
the  border,  where  he  had  done  much  to  lick  the 
Constitutionalist  troops  into  shape.  Now  he  had 
come  to  Noche  Buena  to  teach  the  artillery  of  the 
Legion  how  to  shoot  straight,  after  which  they 
would  all  march  south  and  take  the  great  city 
with  the  golden  gates.  Personally  this  Gringo 
was  a  devil,  of  course,  but  Pasquale  was  a  prince 

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Steve  Yeager 

of  devils  whose  business  it  was  to  keep  all  lesser 
ones  in  order.  So,  in  the  Spanish  equivalent  of 
our  American  slang,  they  should  worry.  Thus  a 
comrade  explained  the  Texan  and  his  presence  to 
Pedro. 

Cabenza  contrived  to  be  in  the  way  when  some 
one  was  wanted  to  fill  the  water-jug  of  Holcomb, 
Ochampa,  who  for  the  moment  had  charge  of  the 
artillery  oflScer,  swooped  down  upon  the  peon 
and  put  him  temporarily  at  the  service  of  his 
guest  to  fetch  and  carry  at  his  orders.  So  Pedro 
unpacked  the  belongings  of  the  American  ojBScer 
and  prepared  what  had  to  serve  as  the  substitute 
for  a  bath.  He  was  so  adept  at  this  that  the  cap- 
tain privately  decided  to  requisition  him  for  his 
servant. 

Having  finished  this  and  laid  out  towels, 
Cabenza  brushed  the  boots  of  the  captain  outside 
while  that  gentleman  splashed  within  the  cabin. 
He  chose  the  time  while  he  was  arranging  the 
shaving-outfit  on  the  table  to  convey  a  piece  of 
information  to  Holcomb. 

"What's  that?  An  American  woman — held 
captive  at  his  house  by  Pasquale,"  repeated  the 
soldier  of  fortune,  astonished. 

"A  girl,  not  a  woman.  About  eighteen,  may- 
be," supplemented  Cabenza,  in  Mexican,  of 
course. 

**A  woman  from  the  street,  I  reckon.  And  if 
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Steve  Yeager 

you  look  into  it  you'll  find  she's  here  of  her  own 
free  will." 

Steve  was  now  stropping  a  razor.  His  back 
was  toward  the  officer,  but  without  turning  he 
could  see  him  by  looking  in  the  glass. 

"You've  got  the  wrong  steer,  captain.  She's 
as  straight  a  girl  as  ever  lived,"  answered  Yeager 
in  perfectly  good  English. 

Holcomb  sat  up  straight.  "Turn  round,  my 
man,"  he  ordered  crisply. 

The  range-rider  did  as  he  was  told.  The  light, 
blue-gray  eyes  of  the  officer  bored  into  his. 

"You're  no  Mexican,"  charged  the  Texan. 

"No.  Arizona  is  where  I  hang  up  my  h^t.'* 

"What  are  you,  then?  A  spy?" 

"I  reckon,  maybeso."  Steve  admitted  the 
thrust  lightly.  "Got  time  to  hear  all  about  it, 
captain?" 

"Go  ahead." 

The  range-rider  told  it,  the  whole  story,  so  far 
as  it  could  be  related  by  him.  Such  details  as  his 
Tnodesty  omitted  Holcomb's  imagination  was 
easily  able  to  supply. 

The  Texan  paced  up  and  down  the  room  with 
the  long,  light,  military  stride. 

"And  you  say  Pasquale  has  been  with  her  all 
day  —  that  he  ate  lunch  with  her  and  is  riding 
with  her  now?" 

"Yes.  Just  watch  his  eyes  wU^n  he  looks  at 
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Steve  Yeager 

her  if  you're  in  doubt  about  the  old  villain. 
There 's  a  tiger  look  in  them,  and  something  else 
that's  worse."  Yeager  chanced  to  glance  out  of 
the  window.  "Here  they  come  now  back  from 
their  ride.  Why  not  meet  them  as  they  alight?  " 

The  captain  reached  for  his  hat  and  led  the 
way  down  the  street.  Cabenza  followed  him,  a 
step  or  two  in  the  rear.  They  reached  head- 
quarters just  as  Pasquale  lifted  Ruth  from  the 
saddle.  He  held  her  for  a  moment  in  his  strong 
arms  and  grinned  down  at  her  frightened,  fasci- 
nated eyes. 

"Adios,  chatita!"  he  murmured,  his  little  eyea 
dancing  with  triumph. 

She  fled  from  him  into  the  house,  terror  giving 
speed  to  her  limbs. 

Upon  Holcomb  the  dictator  turned  eyes  that 
had  grown  cold  and  harsh  again. 

"Welcome,  captain,  welcome,  to  the  Northern 
Legion,"  he  said  brusquely,  offering  a  gauntleted 
hand. 

They  went  into  the  house  together,  Pasquale's 
arm  across  the  shoulder  of  the  Texan. 

"Dios,  I'm  glad  to  see  you,  captain,"  the 
insurgent  chief  ran  on  quickly.  "This  riff-raff  of 
mine  can't  hit  a  hillside.  Hammer  the  artillery 
into  shape  and  I'll  say  gracias." 

"  Yes.  I  see  you  have  a  countrywoman  of  mine 
risiting  you,"  the  American  said  quietly. 

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Steve  Yeager 

**From  Arizona."  The  Mexican  laughed 
harshly.  "We  should  get  together  more,  your 
country  and  mine.  We  should  bind  the  States 
and  the  Republic  together  by  closer  ties.  A  man 
without  a  wife  is  but  a  haK  man.  Captain,  I 
shall  marry." 

It  was  common  knowledge  of  the  camp  that  m 
his  outlaw  days  Pasquale  had  a  w  ife  and  family. 
The  sons  were  grown  up  now.  The  rumor  ran 
that  the  wife  had  found  a  more  congenial  mate 
and  was  separated  from  Gabriel  by  common 
agreement.  Holcomb  made  no  reference  to  this 
free-and-easy  arrangement. 

"Congratulations,  general.  Is  the  lady  some 
high-born  seiiorita?" 

"The  lady  you  have  just  seen  is  my  choice  — 
the  young  woman  from  Arizona,"  answered  Pas- 
quale, flashing  from  under  his  heavy  grizzled 
brows  a  sharp,  questioning  look  at  the  Texan. 

"Indeed!  I  shall  be  happy  to  meet  the  lady 
and  wish  her  joy,"  replied  Holcomb  lightly. 

"You  shall,  captain.  She's  a  little  reluctant 
yet,  but  Gabriel  has  a  way  of  overcoming  that* 
I  shall  be  married  on  Saturday." 

"Ah!" 

The  face  of  the  Texan  had  as  much  expression 
as  a  piece  of  flint.  Pasquale,  watching  him  war- 
ily, wondered  what  he  was  thinking  behind  those 
hard,  steel-gray  eyes. 


CHAPTER  XX 

NEAR  THE  END   OF  HIS   TRAIL 

Harrison  strode  up  and  down  the  room  furi- 
ously. "Who  in  Mexico  is  this  Pasquale?"  he 
demanded,  and  then  answered  his  own  question: 
"Scum  of  the  earth,  a  peon  whipped  for  steaHng 
whiskey,  a  hill  robber  and  murderer.  In  my 
coimtry  they  'd  take  the  scoundrel  and  hang  him 
by  the  neck." 

"True,  amigo,  —  all  true,"  assented  Culvera 
suavely,  examining  his  cigarette  as  he  spoke. 
"But  it  is  well  to  remember  that  walls  have  ears, 
and  therefore  to  whisper  —  when  one  speaks  of 
Gabriel." 

"  I  'm  not  afraid  of  him,"  boasted  the  American, 
but  his  voice  fell. 

"I  am,"  differed  Culvera  frankly.  ^' Ramon  is 
fond  of  Ramon,  so  he  chooses  a  safe  time  to  pay 
his  debts  —  and  he  does  not  advertise  in  advance 
that  he  is  going  to  settle." 

"Bah!  You  sit  still  and  do  nothing.  But  I  — 
By  God !  I  '11  not  stand  it.  He  has  given  it  out  he 
will  be  married  Saturday.  We  '11  see  about  that. 
kTaybe  he'll  be  buried  that  day  instead." 

The  dark  eyes  of  the  Mexican  swept  him  with 
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a  sidelong  glance.  If  he  could  do  it  without  m- 
curring  responsibility  himself,  he  was  very  will- 
ing to  spur  on  the  fierce  passion  of  this  man, 

^'Be  careful,  senor.  Pasquale  is  dangerous.'* 

"  You  know  he  is  dangerous  —  to  Ramon 
Culvera.  Why  don't  you  strike  and  be  done 
with  it?" 

"  The  time  is  not  ripe.  Some  day — perhaps — ^* 
He  let  a  shrug  of  his  shoulders  finish  the  sen- 
tence for  him. 

"'It's  always  maiiana  with  you  Mexicans,'* 
sneered  Harrison  with  a  savage  lift  of  the  lip. 
"You  want  to  play  it  safe  all  the  time.  Why 
don't  you  take  a  chance.^" 

"  I  play  my  own  cards,  senor,"  returned  Ramon 
equably. 

"You  play  'em  darned  close  to  your  stomach. 
Me,  I  go  out  on  a  limb  oncet  in  a  while." 

"Be  sure  you  don't  stay  out  there  —  at  the 
€nd  of  a  rope,"  smiled  the  Mexican. 

"They  have  n't  grown  the  hemp  yet  that  will 
hang  Chad  Harrison."  The  prizefighter  leaned 
toward  him,  eyes  shining.  "If  I  pull  it  off  and 
make  my  getaway  —  what  then.?  Will  you  send 
the  girl  to  me,  wherever  I  sun?'* 

"You  mean,  if  you  — " 

"  —  Give  Pasquale  what 's  been  coming  to  him 
for  a  long  time." 

The  eyes  of  Culvera  were  slits  of  light.  His 
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Steve  Yeager 

face  was  a  brown  mask  that  covered  an  alert  and 
wary  attention. 

*'I  didn't  hear  what  you  said,  amigo.  It  is 
better  that  I  should  n't.  But  if  I  had  charge  of 
the  army  instead  of  General  Pasquale  my  policy 
would  be  different.  I  would  return  this  Arizona 
girl  to  her  home." 

"To  her  home!"  broke  in  Harrison  harshly. 

"To  her  husband,"  amended  the  Mexican 
significantly,  adding  after  an  instant  —  "who  is 
a  good  friend  of  mine." 

"You'll  stand  pat  on  that,  will  you.^'* 

"  It  would  be  my  purpose  to  reward  my  friends 
—  those  who  have  helped  the  cause  —  if  by  any 
chance  command  of  the  Legion  should  fall  to  me.'* 

Harrison  glared  at  him  suspiciously.  "You're 
so  smooth  I  don't  know  whether  I  can  believe 
you  or  not.  You'd  sell  your  own  father  out  for 
the  right  price." 

"I  pay  my  debts,  senor  —  both  kinds,"  sug- 
gested the  Mexican,  unmoved  at  this  outburst. 

"See  that  you  do." 

"Be  sure  I  shall,  amigo,"  returned  Culvera, 
looking  straight  at  him  from  narrowed  eyes  that 
told  nothing. 

The  prizefighter  took  another  turn  up  and 
down  the  room.  He  was  anxious  and  harassed  as 
well  as  driven  hard  by  hatred  and  jealousy. 

"The  wolf  is  having  me  watched.  His  orders 
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Steve  Yeager 

are  that  I'm  not  to  be  allowed  to  leave  camp.  I 
don't  get  any  chance  to  see  him  alone.  If  you 
ask  me,  I  think  he 's  fixing  to  have  me  knifed  in 
the  dark,"  Harrison  burst  out. 

"Should  n't  wonder,"  agreed  the  young  ofiicer 
mih  a  pleasant  smile.  He  lived  in  an  atmosphere 
where  such  things  were  not  uncommon,  and  on 
occasion  could  take  a  hand  himself. 

"Fat  lot  you  care,"  complained  the  photoplay 
actor  sullenly.  "You  wouldn't  lift  a  hand  to 
save  your  pardner." 

Culvera  pattea  him  on  the  shoulder  cheerfully. 
"  What  can  I  do.^  Do  I  not  live  under  the  shadow 
myself?  Can  I  tell  when  the  knife  will  fall  on  me.^^ 
He  is  w  ithout  bowels  of  mercy,  this  son  of  a  thief. 
But  this  I  know:  if  you  are  watched,  you  must 
not  stay  here.  Gabriel  will  be  suspicious  lest  we 
are  plotting  something  against  him.  Good  luck, 
amigo." 

The  heavyweight  took  away  with  him  a  heavy 
heart.  He  had  reached  the  stage  where  his  hand 
was  against  that  of  every  man.  Culvera  he  did 
not  trust  at  all  out  of  his  sight  beyond  the  point 
where  the  interests  of  the  young  Mexican  were 
parallel  to  his.  In  the  whole  camp  he  had  no 
friend,  n6t  even  the  girl  for  whom  he  fought.  As 
for  Pasquale,  Harrison  had  told  the  truth.  He 
believed  the  general  had  doomed  him.  Unless  he 
struck  first,  he  was  a  lost  man.  Why  had  he  been 

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Steve  Yeager 

fool  enough  to  boast  to  the  old  scoundrel  what 
he  would  do?  His  temper  had  robbed  him  of  the 
chance  to  kill  and  then  escape. 

He  passed  down  the  street  toward  the  river. 
A  dozen  boys  and  young  men  sat  in  the  shadow  of 
the  adobe  wall  that  fronted  the  road  opposite  one 
of  the  corrals.  It  chanced  that  Harrison  dropped 
his  handkerchief  at  this  point  and  stooped  to  pick 
it  up. 

Thirty  minutes  later  a  barefooted  youth  came 
down  to  the  river  carrying  an  olla  for  water. 
Harrison  lay  sleeping  under  a  cottonwood  that 
edged  the  trail.  One  arm  was  outstretched  so 
that  the  closed  fist  lay  almost  across  the  path. 

The  soldier  boy  whistled  gayly  as  he  walked. 
Oddly  enough,  just  as  he  reached  the  sleeping 
Gringo,  the  outflung  arm  lifted  abruptly  from 
the  ground  for  an  inch  or  two.  A  little  package 
shot  four  feet  up  into  the  air  and  was  caught 
deftly  by  the  barefoot  trooper  as  it  descended. 

The  lips  of  Harrison  barely  moved.  "Ride 
to-night,  Enrique.  Colonel  Farrugia  will  also 
reward  you  well." 

**Si,  senor,"  nodded  Enrique,  and  went  on  his 
way. 

The  face  of  the  boy  was  toward  the  camp  on 
the  return  journey.  The  American  was  still  fast 
asleep.  The  lad  went  whistling  past  him  without 
any  sign  of  recognition. 

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Steve  Yeager 

Several  times  during  the  next  hour  Harrison 
took  a  long  pull  from  a  bottle  he  carried  in  his 
coat  pocket.  After  a  time  he  rose  and  walked 
heavily  down  the  main  street  of  the  village  until 
he  came  to  the  house  where  Captain  Holcomb 
bad  been  put  up. 

The  Texan  was  sitting  on  his  porch  smoking 
a, pipe.  Behind  him,  a  few  feet  away,  Cabenza 
was  cleaning  a  rifle  for  his  new  master. 

"I  wanta  talk  to  you  about  something,  Cap- 
tain Holcomb,"  announced  the  film  actor. 

The  soldier  looked  at  him  steadily.  *'  Go  to  it,'* 
he  ordered  curtly. 

"This  is  private  business." 

Holcomb  did  not  turn  his  head  or  raise  his 
voice.   '* Pedro,  vamos." 

The  feet  of  Cabenza  could  be  heard  hitting  the 
dust  as  he  vanished  around  the  corner  of  the 
house. 

Without  beating  aroxmd  the  bush  Harrison 
came  to  his  subject.  He  jerked  a  thumb  over  his 
right  shoulder. 

"It's  that  girl  up  at  the  house  there  I  want  to 
talk  about." 

"What  about  her.?" 

"  He 's  got  no  business  keeping  her  there.  She '? 
a  straight  girl." 

"Is  she?" 

"Yes,  sir.  She  is." 

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Steve  Yeager 

"Then  why  did  you  bring  her  here?'*  Hol- 
comb's  question  was  like  the  thrust  of  a  sword. 

"Because  I  was  a  fool." 

"Better  give  things  their  right  names.  You 
were  a  damned  villain." 

A  dull  flush  rose  to  the  cheeks  of  the  prize- 
fighter. "All  right.  Let  it  go  at  that.  I  guess 
you're  right.  What  I  want  to  know  now  is 
whether  you're  going  to  stand  for  Pasquale's 
play.  He 's  got  one  wife  already  —  half  a  dozen, 
far  as  I  know.  You  going  to  let  him  put  this 
wedding  farce  over  without  a  kick?  " 

"Can  I  stop  it?" 

"You  can  register  a  roar,  can't  you?" 

"Would  it  do  any  good?  Did  yours?" 

"You're  different.  He  needs  you  to  drill  this 
ragged  bunch  of  hoboes  he  calls  an  army.  Pas- 
quale  has  a  lot  of  respect  for  you.  He  talked  a  lot 
about  you  before  you  came." 

"If  you  want  to  know,  I've  already  spok^i  to 
him  about  it." 

"WTiatdidhesay?" 

**  Gave  me  to  understand  that  if  I  'd  attend  to 
my  business  he  'd  mind  his.  And  I  'm  going  to  do 
it,"  concluded  Holcomb  with  sharp  decision. 

"  You  mean  you  're  going  to  lie  down  like  a  yel- 
low dog  and  quit,  that  you'll  let  this  wolf  take 
that  lamb  and  ruin  her  life!  Is  that  what  you 
mean?" 

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Steve  Yeager 

Holcomb  sat  forward  in  his  chair,  so  that  his 
strong,  lean,  sunburnt  face  was  as  close  to  the 
other  man  as  possible.  "You  talk  both  like  a 
coward  and  a  fool.  You  brought  the  girl  here 
against  her  will.  If  Pasquale  had  been  willing  to 
let  you  force  her  into  a  marriage  with  you,  I 
would  n't  have  heard  a  squeal  out  of  you.  But 
he  butted  in.  He  took  her  from  you.  Now  you 
come  hollering  to  me,  you  quitter.  Instead  of 
fighting  it  out  to  a  finish,  you  run  to  me.  Talk 
about  yellow  curs.  Faugh!" 

"What  can  I  do.^"  exploded  Harrison  in  a 
rage.  "He  has  four  men  watching  her  room  at 
night  now.  Every  time  I  move  his  cursed  spies 
follow  me.  There  are  two  of  them  over  there  now. 
Pasquale  won't  even  let  me  see  him.  He 's  aimin' 
to  have  me  killed,  I  believe." 

"Serve  you  right,"  the  soldier  of  fortune  flung 
at  him  as  he  rose  from  his  chair.  "Killing  is  none 
too  good  for  your  kind.  Pity  some  one  did  n't 
stamp  you  out  before  you  brought  that  little  girl 
down  here  to  this  sink  of  perdition." 

Harrison  swallowed  down  his  anger.  'That's 
all  right.  I  '11  stand  for  it.  If  I  did  n't  believe  it 
myself,  you'd  have  a  heluvatime  getting  away 
with  such  talk.  But  it  goes  just  as  you  lay  it 
down.  I'm  a  skunk  and  all  the  rest  of  it.  Now, 
listen !  I  ain't  such  a  four-flusher  as  to  lay  down 
my  hand  before  I've  played  it  out.    See!   I'm 

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Steve  Yeager 

not  through  with  Gabriel  Pasquale.  Watch  my 
smoke.  Him  and  me  has  n't  come  to  a  settlement 
yet." 

"Sounds  to  me  like  whiskey  talk,"  answered 
the  Texan  scornfully.  "Men  who  do  the  kind  of 
:hings  you  have  done  don't  have  the  guts  to  play 
out  a  losing  game." 

"Some  do,  some  don't.  By  your  reputation 
you're  game.  All  right.  Keep  your  eyes  open, 
captain." 

Snarling,  the  man  turned  away  and  walked 
down  the  street.  Holcomb  watched  him  go. 
There  was  something  purposeful  in  the  way  the 
heavyweight  moved.  Perhaps,  after  all,  he  would 
make  a  fighting  finish  of  it.  The  captain  fervently 
hoped  he  would  drag  old  Pasquale  down  with  him 
before  they  wiped  him  oflf  the  map.  But  he  knew 
the  betting  odds  were  all  the  other  way. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

A   STAGE  PREPARED  FOR  TRAGEDY 

Not  knowing  when  his  opportunity  might 
tome,  Harrison  kept  his  horse  saddled  most  of 
the  time.  He  knew  that  extra  mounted  patrols 
were  kept  at  the  ends  of  the  streets  and  at  other 
points  on  the  mesa  surrounding  the  town,  and 
ihat  he  would  have  to  take  a  chance  of  being  able 
to  run  the  gauntlet  in  safety.  If  luck  favored  him, 
he  might  win  past  these.  For  one  thing  the  Mexi- 
cans were  very  poor  shots,  a  little  the  worst  he 
had  ever  seen.  It  might  be,  too,  that  he  would 
have  darkness  in  his  favor,  though  he  could  not 
count  on  this. 

By  Enrique  he  had  sent  to  Governor  Farrugia 
a  map  of  the  camp,  giving  detailed  information  as 
to  the  number  and  position  of  the  troops  and 
showing  from  what  direction  the  camp  could  best 
be  attacked.  In  his  letter  he  had  urged  immedi- 
ate action,  on  the  ground  that  a  part  of  the  men 
were  absent  with  Major  Ochampa  on  a  foraging 
expedition.  If  Farrugia  rose  to  the  occasion,  he 
hoped  in  the  confusion  of  .the  assault  to  escape 
with  Ruth. 

Meanwhile  he  waited,  and  the  hours  slipped 
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Steve  Yeager 

away.  It  was  now  Friday  noon,  and  the  wedding 
was  to  be  Saturday  morning. 

Four  denim-clad  troopers  and  a  sergeant 
marched  raggedly  down  the  street  and  stopped 
in  front  of  Harrison's  adobe  house. 

"The  general  wishes  to  see  the  senor,"  ex- 
plained the  sergeant. 

The  American  knew  the  crucial  hour  had  come. 
This  was  the  first  move  of  Pasquale  in  the  pro- 
gramme to  destroy  him.  He  made  no  protest, 
but  stepped  forward  at  once,  leading  his  horse 
by  the  bridle.  The  sergeant  was  a  little  dubious 
about  the  horse,  but  his  orders  did  not  cover  the 
point  and  he  made  no  objection. 

Pasquale  was  standing  in  front  of  his  house  on 
the  porch,  bow  legs  wide  apart  and  hands  crossed 
behind  his  back.  Harrison  stopped  directly  in 
front  of  him.  The  soldiers  moved  back  a  dozen 
yards. 

"Well,"  demanded  the  heavyweight. 

"I  sent  for  you  to  explain  something  to  me, 
sir,"  said  the  Mexican  general  harshly. 

"  What  is  it. ?^" 

"This  letter  and  map." 

Pasquale  stepped  forward,  handed  two  papers 
to  Harrison,  and  quickly  stepped  back  till  his 
back  was  against  the  wall  of  the  house.  Some- 
thing in  his  manner  stirred  the  banked  suspicions 
of  the  American.  AU-eady  his  nerves  were  keyed 

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Steve  Yeager 

to  unusual  tension,  for  he  knew  the  moment  of 
crux  was  hurrying  toward  him.  Why  had  the 
troopers  fallen  back  so  far?  Why  was  Pasquale 
so  anxious  to  put  a  wide  space  between  himself 
and  his  prisoner? 

The  eyes  of  the  film  actor,  clouded  with  doubt 
of  what  was  about  to  take  place,  fell  to  the 
papers  in  his  hand.  He  was  looking  at  the  let- 
ter and  the  map  he  had  sent  to  Governor  Far- 
rugia. 

Instantly  his  mind  was  made  up.  But  as  the 
blue  barrel  of  his  revolver  flashed  into  sight  there 
came  the  simultaneous  roar  of  a  volley.  The  force 
of  it  seemed  to  lift  Harrison  from  his  feet.  Before 
his  sagging  knees  had  touched  the  dust  the  man 
was  dead. 

Pasquale  drew  a  forty-five  and  fired  three  times 
into  the  lax  and  huddled  body.  He  nodded  to 
the  men  in  the  smoke-filled  windows  upstairs. 

"Come  down  and  bury  this  Gringo  dog's 
body,"  he  ordered. 

They  trooped  down  noisily.  Pasquale  kicked 
the  body  carelessly  with  his  toe.  "He  was  a 
traitor  to  the  cause.  The  proof  is  in  that  paper. 
Hand  it  to  me,  Juan." 

The  general  read  the  letter  aloud.  "He  would 
have  betrayed  us  all  but  for  the  patriotism  of  a 
messenger  who  would  not  be  bribed.  The  man 
deserved  death.  Not  so?" 

218 


Steve  Yeager 

They  shouted  approval  and  added,  "Viva 
Pasquale!"  in  an  enthusiastic  roar.  Ramon 
Culvera,  who  had  just  arrived  on  the  scene,  led 
the  cheering  with  much  vigor. 

From  every  house  men,  boys,  and  women 
poured.  The  streets  filled  with  noisy  patriots. 
Guns  popped  here  and  there  to  ventilate  the 
energy  of  their  owners.  Troopers  galloped  up  and 
down  the  road  in  clouds  of  dust  shooting  into 
the  air  as  they  rode.  Boys  who  would  have  run 
their  legs  off  to  obey  a  whim  of  Harrison  spat 
contemptuously  upon  the  face  of  the  "Gringo 
cabrone." 

Drawn  by  the  hubbub.  Captain  Holcomb  hur- 
ried from  his  house,  He  looked  down  at  the  life- 
less body  four  soldiers  were  carrying  away  and 
turned  to  Pasquale  for  an  explanation. 
"  The  general  handed  him  the  papers  that  proved 
Harrison's  guilt.  "I  have  executed  a  traitor,  cap- 
tain. The  dog  would  have  sold  us  out  to  Farrugia. 
Is  his  pimishment  not  just?" 

Holcomb  looked  the  papers  over  and  handed 
them  back  to  his  chief.  "He  got  what  was  com- 
ing to  him,"  he  answered  quietly. 

"I  have  witnesses  to  show  that  he  was  draw- 
ing his  revolver  to  assassinate  me  at  the  very 
moment  he  was  shot.  My  men  were  just  in 
time." 

"It  was  fortunate  for  you  your  men  happened 


Steve  Yeager 

to  be  so  handy,"  replied  the  American  oflScer 
with  just  a  suggestion  of  dryness. 

For  Holcomb  knew,  just  as  Yeager  did,  that 
the  scene  had  been  set  by  Pasquale  for  the  kiUingo 
His  men  had  been  stationed  in  the  windows  above, 
unknown  to  the  victim.  The  heavyweight  had 
been  tempted  to  reach  for  his  weapon  by  the  cer- 
tainty that  he  had  come  to  the  end  of  the  passage. 
Doing  so,  he  had  given  the  signal  for  his  own 
death.  Had  he  failed  to  do  this,  the  Mexican 
general  would  have  sprung  the  trap  himself  in 
another  minute.  Fortunately  this  had  not  been 
necessary.  Pasquale  was  in  a  position  to  prove  to 
the  United  States  Government,  in  case  it  became 
inquisitive,  that  when  the  man  had  been  con- 
fronted with  his  guilt  he  had  tried  to  kill  him  and 
had  been  shot  down  red-handed. 

Half  an  hour  later  Holcomb  came  into  his 
house  and  found  Steve  cleaning  a  pair  of  revol- 
vers. The  captain  tossed  his  hat  on  the  bed  and 
sat  down. 

*'Up  to  us,  looks  like,"  he  commented. 

Yeager  nodded  silently. 

"Harrison  hadn't  a  look-in.  The  old  scoun- 
drel had  the  cards  stacked,"  continued  the 
officer. 

"Yep.  Chad  sat  in  against  a  cold  deck.  He 
made  a  big  mistake  when  he  let  the  old  man  take 
the  play." 

no 


Steve  Yeager 

** Everything  fixed  for  to-night?" 

"Far  as  it  can  be.  We've  just  got  to  take  a 
big  chance  and  trust  to  luck  being  with  us,"  an- 
swered Steve. 

"Guess  you'll  have  to  make  your  own  luck. 
I  spoke  to  Pasquale  about  a  game  here  to- 
night. He  grabbed  at  the  bait.  Said  he  would 
bring  Culvera  and  Ochampa.  I  '11  make  a  long 
session  of  it  so  as  to  give  you  all  the  time  you 
need." 

"Better  have  a  boy  here  to  serve  the  liquor 
and  cigars.  If  you  should  hear  shooting,  and 
Gabriel  gets  anxious  about  it,  you  can  send  the 
boy  to  find  out  what  it's  about.  That  will  give 
us  a  few  minutes  more  to  get  away." 

"Sure  your  dope  is  strong  enough.^" 

"The  man  who  fixed  it  ought  to  know.  He's  a 
registered  druggist  at  Phoenix,"  replied  the  range- 
rider. 

Yeager  had  never  before  sat  in  the  anxious  seat 
as  nervously  as  he  did  during  the  next  few  hours. 
His  nature  was  not  of  the  kind  to  borrow  trouble. 
Usually  he  could  accept  responsibility  without 
letting  it  worry  him.  But  to-night  he  was  playing 
for  big  stakes  —  his  own  life  certainly  was  in  the 
hazard,  probably  those  of  Farrar  and  Threewit, 
possibly  that  of  the  Texan.  And  what  weighed 
with  him  more  than  all  these  was  the  fate  of  the 
yoimg  girl  in  the  back  room  upstairs  waiting 


Steve  Yeager 

with  a  leaden  heart  for  this  dreadful  thing  that 
was  to  befall  her.  It  was  in  the  game  that  a  man 
must  take  his  fighting  chance.  But  a  girl  —  and 
above  all  girls  Ruth  —  the  thought  of  it  stabbed 
his  heart  like  a  knife. 


CHAPTER  XXn 

A   CONSPIRACY 

In  settling  accounts  with  Harrison  the  Mexican 
general  had  prepared  the  scene,  had  arranged 
every  detail  of  it  carefully  so  as  to  eliminate  any 
possible  chance  the  heavyweight  might  other- 
wise have.  Yeager  had  no  intention  of  letting 
Pasqnale  fix  the  conditions  against  him  as  he  had 
against  the  prizefighter. 

"Old  Gabriel  was  holding  four  aces  and  Chad 
only  a  busted  flush.  Pasquale  knew  it  all  the 
time.  Harrison  must  'a'  guessed  it  too.  But  if  he 
did,  I  don't  see  why  he  waited  for  the  old  man  to 
spring  his  trap,"  said  Steve. 

"It's  a  matter  of  temperament,  I  reckon. 
Some  fellows  are  game  enough  when  you  put  'em 
up  against  trouble  good  and  hard,  but  they  hang 
back  and  wait  for  it  to  come  to  'em.  I  expect 
Harrison  did  n't  know  how  to  play  his  hand. 
Looked  that  way  to  me  when  he  talked  with  me. 
Likely  he  figured  he  had  better  wait  and  see  what 
happened,"  surmised  the  captain. 

"He  waited  too  long." 

"Till  it  was  too  late  to  call  for  a  new  deal.  He 
had  to  play  those  dealt  him." 

223 


Steve  Yeager 

"DiflFerent  here.  We'll  do  the  dealing  our- 
selves, captain.  Pasquale  has  been  through  the 
deck  and  taken  out  all  the  big  picture  cards,  but 
I  expect  I  can  rustle  up  a  six-full  that  will  come 
handy."  Yeager  smiled  as  he  spoke  at  the  .45  he 
was  bestowing  about  his  person. 

Together  they  set  the  table  for  poker,  putting 
on  it  two  new  decks,  one  blue  and  one  red,  and  a 
box  of  chips  that  had  seen  service  in  many  a  mid- 
night fray.  On  a  side  table  were  cigars,  cigarettes, 
and  liquor  in  plenty.  Holcomb  intended  to  see 
that  his  guests  were  properly  entertained  while 
Steve  played  the  bigger  and  more  dangerous  game 
outside. 

The  range-rider  knew  that  the  odds  were 
against  him,  that  any  one  of  fifty  trifling  acci- 
dents might  bring  to  failure  the  plan  he  had 
made.  All  he  could  do  was  to  make  his  prepa- 
rations as  skillfully  as  he  could  and  then  try  to 
carry  them  out  coolly  and  with  determination. 

The  Mexican  boy  who  had  been  hired  to  act 
as  an  attendant  on  the  card-players  arrived  and 
Yeager  took  his  leave.  The  captain  followed  him 
to  the  porch. 

"Good  luck,  Steve,"  he  said  quietly. 

"Same  to  you,  captain.  We'll  talk  this  all 
over  across  the  line  in  God's  country  some  time." 

"Sure,"  nodded  Holcomb.   "Well,  so-long." 

The  younger  man  answered  the  nod  casually 
224 


Steve  Yeager 

and  turned  away  down  the  street.  Neither  of 
them  thought  of  shaking  hands.  Whatever  was 
to  happen  was  all  in  the  day's  work.  Both  of 
them  belonged  to  that  type  of  Westerner  which 
sees  a  thing  through  without  any  dramatics. 
That  this  happened  to  be  a  particularly  critical 
thing  had  no  effect  on  their  manner. 

Holcomb  lit  a  cigar  and  sat  down  on  the  porch 
to  wait  for  his  guests.  They  came  presently. 
First  were  Pasquale  and  Ochampa,  rough  and 
ready  as  to  clothes,  unshaven,  betraying  con- 
tinually the  class  from  which  they  had  risen. 
Culvera  dropped  in  after  a  few  minutes.  He  had 
discarded  his  uniform  and  was  in  the  picturesque 
regalia  of  the  yoimg  Mexican  cavalier.  From  jin- 
gling silver  spurs  to  the  costly  gold-laced  som- 
brero he  was  every  inch  the  dandy.  His  manners 
were  the  pink  of  urbanity.  Nothing  was  lacking 
in  particular  to  the  affectionate  deference  he 
showed  his  chief.  It  suggested  somehow  the  love 
of  a  son  and  the  admiration  of  a  devoted  admirer. 

The  general  was  riding  a  wave  of  exhilaration. 
He  had  trodden  down  another  of  his  enemies  and 
was  about  to  take  to  himself  the  spoils  of  the 
battle.  Still  in  his  vigorous  prime,  he  was  assured 
the  stars  were  beckoning  him  to  take  the  place 
in  Mexico  City  that  neither  Madero  nor  Huerta 
had  been  strong  enough  to  hold.  He  promised 
himself  to  settle  down  to  moderation,  to  have 

225 


Steve  Yeager 

done  with  the  wild  drinking-bouts  that  still  occja- 

sionally  interfered  with  his  eflSciency .  Meanwhile, 

to-night  he  was  again  saying  farewell  to  his  bach- 

«  elor  days.  He  drank  liberally  but  not  excessively, 

Ochampa  proposed  the  health  and  happiness 
of  the  bride.  It  was  drunk  with  enthusiasm.  The 
general  gave  them  the  United  States,  the  sister 
republic  to  the  north,  and  spoke  affectingly  of 
his  desire  to  promote  a  better  feeling  between  the 
countries  by  this  marriage.  The  host  had  not 
expected  his  poker  party  to  develop  so  much 
oratory,  but  he  rose  briefly  to  the  occasion.  The 
subject  of  his  remarks  was,  "A  United  Mexico." 

But  it  was  Culvera  who  capped  the  climax.  He 
rose,  wineglass  in  hand,  and  waited  impressively 
for  silence.  For  five  minutes  his  tongue  flowed 
on  in  praises  of  the  Liberator  of  the  people.  He 
heaped  superlatives  on  extravagant  approval 
after  the  fashion  of  our  political  orators. 

''Need  I  put  a  name  to  this  patriot  and  hero 
who  has  won  the  unbounded  love  and  loyalty  ci 
my  youth?"  he  asked  rotundly.  "Need  I  name 
the  Bolivar,  the  Washington  of  Mexico,  the  next 
president  of  this  great  republic?  If  so,  I  but 
repeat  the  name  that  is  on  the  lips  of  all  the 
thousands  of  our  people  to  whom  he  is  as  a  father 
—  Gabriel  Pasquale." 

Holcomb  smiled  behind  the  hand  that  stroked 
his  mustache.    There  was  nobody  present  who 

226 


Steve  Yeager 

did  not  know  pretty  accurately  how  far  Ramon's 
attachment  to  his  chief  went.  Gabriel  himself, 
who  embraced  him  affectionately  in  thanks,  had 
not  the  least  doubt.  But  if  he  had  no  illusions 
in  the  matter,  he  did  not  intend  on  that  account 
to  warn  his  lieutenant  prematurely  that  he  was 
next  on  the  list  to  Harrison. 

Poker  presently  absorbed  their  attention.  Hol- 
comb  was  the  genial  host,  watchful  of  their  wants 
and  solicitous  that  they  should  be  supplied.  No 
sign  of  anxiety  betrayed  that  he  was  keyed  up  to 
a  high  nervous  tension.  He  told  stories,  laughed 
at  those  of  the  others,  high  spaded  for  drinks 
(though  as  a  matter  of  fact  he  was  as  host  fur- 
nishing the  liquor),  made  post-mortem  examina- 
tions of  the  deck,  and  otherwise  showed  a  proper 
interest.  It  was  quite  necessary  that  when  Pas- 
quale  looked  back  over  the  evening  with  later 
developments  in  mind  he  should  not  be  able  to 
j6nd  any  intimations  that  his  host  was  accessory 
to  the  plan  to  escape. 

Hour  after  hour  slipped  away.  The  captain 
began  to  let  himself  hope  that  the  forlorn  hope  of 
Yeager  had  brought  safety  to  his  friends.  Surely 
by  this  time  he  must  either  have  won  or  lost  his 
throw  for  liberty. 

A  single  shot  broke  the  stillness  of  the  night. 

Pasquale,  dealing,  stopped  with  a  card  in  his 
hand. 

227 


I 


Steve  Yeager 

"Funny  thing  how  the  guns  of  sentries  are 
always  going  off  accidentally,"  remarked  Hol- 
comb  casually.  "  Boy,  look  to  the  glasses  of  these 
gentlemen." 

The  deal  was  finished.  Culvera  opened  the  pot. 
The  captain  stayed.  Ochampa  hesitated. 

One  shot,  a  second,  and  then  a  fusillade  of 
them  shattered  the  quiet. 

Pasquale  flung  down  his  cards  and  rose  hur- 
riedly, overturning  his  chair.  "Mil  diablos! 
What's  to  pay.^"  he  cried. 

The  others  followed  him  out  of  the  room  and 
house.  He  ran  down  the  street  as  fast  as  a  boy. 
Already  men  were  emerging  from  houses  half 
dressed.  The  sound  of  shots  came  from  back  of 
the  general's  headquarters.  Pasquale  doubled 
around  the  house  and  vaulted  a  fence.  He  butted 
into  an  excited  group  and  flung  men  to  right  and 
left. 

"What's  the  matter.^"  he  demanded. 

A  soldier  pointed  to  the  open  window  of  the 
room  that  had  been  occupied  by  Ruth  Seymour. 
"She's  gone.  Your  Excellency." 

"Gone!  Gone  where .'^"  roared  Gabriel. 

**  Heaven  knows.  Her  friends  have  rescued 
her." 

Pasquale  broke  into  a  storm  of  curses. 


CHAPTER  XXm 

TRAPPED 

After  leaving  Holcomb,  Yeager  walked  down 
to  the  river-bed,  followed  the  bank  for  a  couple 
of  hundred  yards,  and  crept  forward  on  all  fours 
through  the  alfalfa  pasture  to  the  barb-wire  fence 
that  paralleled  the  road  at  some  distance.  He 
crawled  beneath  the  lowest  wire  and  moved 
through  the  mesquite  to  a  point  from  which  he 
could  see  the  building  where  Farrar  and  Threewit 
were  held  prisoners.  Two  guards  with  rifles 
across  their  shoulders  paced  up  and  down  out- 
side. 

Here  Steve  lay  motionless  for  about  half  an 
hour.  He  believed  that  before  the  poker  game 
began  some  one  of  the  party  would  drop  around 
to  see  that  all  was  quiet  and  regular  in  the  camp. 
His  guess  was  a  good  one.  Pasquale  himself,  arm 
in  arm  with  Ochampa,  made  the  rounds  and 
stopped  for  a  moment  to  speak  to  the  sentries  in 
front  of  the  prison.  The  man  crouched  in  the 
bear  grass  could  tell  that  Gabriel  was  in  high 
good-humor.  He  jested  with  the  men  and  clapped 
them  on  the  shoulder  jovially.  He  laughed  as 
heartily  at  his  own  witticisms  as  they  did. 


Steve  Yeager 

*' There  shall  be  mescal  to-morrow  for  the 
whole  army  to  drink  the  health  of  the  Liberator 
and  his  bride.  See  to  it,  Ochampa,"  he  ordered  as 
they  walked  away. 

"Viva  Pasquale  the  Liberator,"  cried  the  s®a-» 
tries  in  a  fine  fervor  of  enthusiasm. 

Presently  the  man  in  hiding  stole  quietly  to 
the  road  and  advanced  down  it  at  a  leisurely 
pace. 

"Promising  them  mescal,  eh.f^"  he  murmured. 
"Well,  I  '11  bet  a  bird  in  the  hand  is  worth  twenty 
or  most  sixteen  in  the  bush."  He  patted  affection- 
ately a  bottle  that  lay  snug  in  his  pocket. 

"Who  go^?"  demanded  one  erf  the  prison 
guards  as  he  approached. 

"Pedro  Cabenza." 

Steve  chatted  with  them  for  a  few  moments 
before  he  produced  his  bird  in  the  hand.  They 
told  him  of  what  Pasquale  had  promised.  Slyly 
he  looked  around  to  see  that  they  were  alone  and 
drew  from  his  pocket  the  bottle. 

"  Ho,  companero !  Behold  what  I  have.  Gringo 
whiskey  —  better  far  than  mescal,"  he  cried 
softly  as  he  handed  the  treasure  to  one  of  the 
guards. 

The  man  glanced  around  hurriedly,  even  as 
had  Cabenza,  then  tilted  the  mouth  of  the  bottle 
over  his  lips  and  let  a  long  stiff  drink  gurgle  down 
iis  throat.  He  patted  his  fat  paunch  contentedly 

230. 


Steve  Yeager 

and  handed  the  bottle  to  his  companion.  The 
second  guard  also  drank  deeply. 

Cabenza  put  an  arm  across  the  shoulders  of 
each  and  drew  their  heads  close  while  he  whis- 
pered confidential  scandal  about  Pasquale  and 
Ramon  Culvera.  The  two  men  listened  greedily, 
eager  for  more.  It  happened  that  there  was  no 
truth  in  the  salacious  tidbits  which  Pedro  re* 
tailed,  but  he  invented  ghbly  and  that  did  just 
as  well. 

The  heads  of  his  listeners  began  to  nod.  They 
murmured  drowsy  interjections  and  leaned  more 
heavily  upon  his  arms.  Ineffectually  they  tried 
to  shake  off  the  lassitude  that  was  creeping  over 
their  senses. 

"Keep  watch,  brother,  while  I  take  just  forty 
winks,"  begged  one,  and  fairly  thrust  his  rifle 
into  the  hand  of  Yeager. 

The  soldier  staggered  to  the  adobe  wall  and 
slimaped  down  beside  the  door.  His  eyes  closed, 
fluttered  open  again,  shut  a  second  time.  Hhej 
did  not  open.  He  was  fast  asleep. 

The  second  guard  sat  down  beside  him  and 
smiled  up  sleepily  at  the  standing  man.  "Manuel 
sleeps  on  duty.  He  is  —  a  fool.  I  do  —  not  — 
sleep.  No,  I  — I—" 

His  head  drooped  on  his  chest.  Steve  took  the 
rifle  that  fell  from  his  relaxed  hand. 

Instantly  the  American  was  tapping  gently  on 

2dt 


Steve  Yeager 

the  door.  "Threewit  —  Farrar ! "  he  called  softly. 
"This  is  Steve." 

There  was  the  sound  of  quick  footsteps.  A 
voice  within  answered  in  a  whisper. 

"Yes,  Steve.  This  is  Frank." 

From  his  pocket  the  range-rider  took  a  bunch 
of  skeleton  keys.  It  was  no  trouble  to  find  one 
that  would  unlock  the  door,  but  in  addition  to 
this  fastening  there  was  a  padlock.  With  a  hatchet 
which  he  had  brought  Yeager  pried  the  staple 
out.  In  another  moment  the  door  was  open. 

"Help  me  drag  these  fellows  inside,"  ordered 
the  cowpimcher,  taking  command  promptly. 
"Frank,  tear  one  of  those  blankets  into  strips. 
We've  got  to  tie  their  hands  and  feet  and  gag 
them.  Shuck  your  coat,  Threewit.  You  've  got 
to  wear  this  fellow's  blouse  and  sombrero.  You, 
too,  Frank.  It's  Manuel's  castaways  for  you. 
Move  lively,  boys.  This  is  surely  going  to  be  our 
busy  evening." 

"What's  the  programme.^"  asked  Farrar, 
doing  what  he  was  told  to  do. 

Steve  explained  briefly.  "Old  Pasquale  has 
got  Ruth  Seymour  here  at  his  house.  He  intends 
to  marry  her  to-morrow.  I  don't  mean  he  shall. 
A  good  friend  of  mine  is  entertaining  the  old 
scoundrel  to-night  and  some  of  the  other  high 
moguls  in  camp.  My  notion  is  to  slip  into  old 
Gabriel's  headquarters  and  rescue  Ruth." 

232 


Steve  Yeager 

"Has  Ruth  been  here  ever  since  she  came  down 
with  Harrison  that  time  he  Hed  to  her  about  you 
being  wounded?"  asked  Three  wit.  **We  were 
told  you  butted  in  and  took  her  home." 

"I  did.  Harrison  went  to  Los  Robles  later  and 
brought  her  by  force.  He  was  looking  for  me  and 
bumped  into  her  by  chance.  His  idea  was  to  marry 
her  as  soon  as  they  reached  camp.  But  Pasquale 
balked.  He  took  a  fancy  to  Ruth  himself." 

While  Yeager  talked  his  fingers  were  busy 
every  moment.  From  long  usage  he  was  expert 
at  roping  and  tying.  Many  a  time  he  had  thrown 
the  diamond  hitch  while  packing  on  mountain 
trails.  His  skill  served  him  well  now.  He  trussed 
the  guards  as  if  they  had  been  packs  for  the 
saddle,  binding  them  hand  and  feet  so  that  they 
could  not  move. 

"We  heard  that  an  American  had  been  killed 
in  camp  to-day.  We  've  been  worried  for  fear  it 
might  have  been  you,  Steve,"  said  the  camera 
man. 

"It  was  Harrison.  He  tried  to  sell  Pasquale 
out  to  Farrugia  and  the  old  fox  got  his  letter. 
Pasquale  accused  him  of  his  treachery  and  had 
him  assassinated  on  the  spot.  Better  pull  that 
sombrero  lower  over  your  face,  Threewit.  And 
keep  your  hands  out  of  the  light  as  much  as  you 
can.  They're  too  white  for  this  section  of  the 
country." 

233 


Steve  Yeager 

*'What  if  some  one  talks  to  me?  I  can't  put 
over  their  lingo." 

"Just  grunt.  I'll  do  what  talking  is  necessary. 
All  right.   We'll  make  tracks,  boys." 

They  stepped  outside.  Yeager  relocked  the  door 
and  drove  the  staple  back  into  the  wood  with  the 
end  of  his  rifle  by  steady  pressure  and  not  by  blows. 

Steve  led  them  through  the  bear  grass  into  the 
pasture  and  across  it  to  the  river-bank.  Here, 
under  the  heavy  shadows  of  the  overhanging 
cottonwoods,  he  outlined  his  plans. 

Three  wit  spoke  aloud  his  fears.  "But,  good 
Lord!  what  chance  have  we  got.^^  It's  a  cinch  we 
can't  put  four  more  guards  out  of  business  with- 
out being  seen.  And  if  we  are  caught  — "  His 
roice  failed  him. 

The  cowpuncher  looked  at  him,  and  then  at 
Farrar.  The  camera  man  was  pale,  but  his  eyes 
met  those  of  his  friend  steadily.  Steve  judged  he 
would  do  to  tie  to,  that  his  nerve  would  pull  him 
through.  But  the  director  was  plainly  shaken 
with  fears.  He  was  not  a  coward,  but  the  priva- 
tions and  anxieties  of  the  past  ten  days  had  got 
on  his  nerves.  His  lips  twitched  and  his  fat  hand 
trembled.  His  life  had  fallen  in  too  soft  and  easy 
places  for  this  sort  of  thing. 

The  cowboy  reassured  him  gently,  even  as  he 
rearranged  his  plans  on  the  spot.  "We're  going 
to  pull  it  off,  but  as  you  say  there  is  a  chance  we 

234 


Steve  Yeager 

won't  make  it.  I  'm  going  to  leave  you  in  the  cor- 
ral with  the  horses.  If  Frank  and  I  should  slip 
up  and  get  caught  you'll  still  have  a  chance  to 
get  away." 

'*I'm  going  through  with  it  just  the  same  as 
you  boys,"  insisted  the  director  shakily. 

"You're  going  to  do  as  I  say,  Threewit.  I'm 
elected  boss  of  this  rodeo.  One  of  us  has  got  to 
stay  by  the  horses  to  make  sure  they're  ready 
when  we  need  'em.  That's  going  to  be  you. 
You  're  to  sit  right  steady  on  the  job  till  we  come. 
If  you  hear  shooting,  —  and  if  we  don't  show  up 
in  a  reasonable  time  after  that,  —  light  out  and 
save  your  hide.  Keep  that  star  —  see,  the  bright 
one  close  down  to  the  horizon  —  keep  it  right  in 
front  of  you  all  night.  By  daybreak  you  ought 
to  be  across  the  line." 

"I'm  not  going  to  ride  away  and  leave  you 
boys  and  Ruth  here.  What  do  you  take  me  for?  " 
demanded  Threewit  huskily. 

Steve  put  a  hand  on  the  shoulder  of  the  little 
man.  "  You  're  all  right,  Billie,"  he  said,  with  the 
aflFectionate  smile  that  men  as  well  as  women 
loved.  **  We  all  know  you  '11  do  to  take  along  any 
time  when  we  need  a  man  that's  on  the  level. 
You  wait  there  at  the  corral.  If  we  show  up, 
good.  If  we  don't  —  well,  we'll  be  beyond  help. 
There'll  be  nothing  left  for  you  to  do  but  bum 
the  wind." 

Sd5 


Steve  Yeager 

Frank  swallowed  hard.  "  What  Steve  says  goes 
with  me,  Billie." 

"Good."  Yeager  turned  briskly  to  the  busi- 
ness in  hand.  ''We  might  as  well  be  on  our 
way,  boys.  There's  no  hurry,  because  I  want 
Pas  quale  and  Culvera  to  get  settled  at  their 
game.  But  I  reckon  we'll  drift  along  easy 
like." 

They  waded  the  river,  which  at  its  deepest  did 
not  reach  to  their  calves,  and  scrambled  up  the 
opposite  bank  to  a  bench  of  shale.  Yeager,  after 
a  short  search,  found  'hidden  under  the  foliage  of 
a  prickly  pear  the  rope  he  had  left  there  some 
hours  earlier.  They  were  in  a  large  fenced  pasture 
where  were  kept  the  horses  of  the  officers.  At 
one  end  could  be  seen  dimly  the  outline  of  a  little 
corral. 

*' You  boys  head  across  that  way  and  wait  for 
me.  The  remuda  is  at  the  other  end  of  the  pas- 
ture under  the  care  of  a  boy,"  explained  the  cow- 
puncher. 

"Had  n't  I  better  go  along  with  you  in  case  of 
trouble.'^" asked  Farrar. 

"There  isn't  going  to  be  any  trouble.  I'm 
getting  the  horses  for  Pasquale.   See.^" 

After  the  others  had  left  him,  Steve  lit  a  ciga- 
rette and  sauntered  to  the  far  end  of  the  field. 
Presently  he  gave  a  call  that  brought  an  answer. 
The  horses  were  grazing  in  a  loose  herd  that  cov 

^36 


Steve  Yeager 

ered  perhaps  a  third  of  an  acre.  From  behind 
them  emerged  a  youth  on  horseback. 

**I  want  four  horses  in  a  hurry,"  announced 
the  range-rider. 

"What  for.?" 

"  Never  mind  what  for,  compadre.  I  did  n't 
ask  old  Gabriel  what  for  when  he  sent  me," 
grumbled  the  messenger. 

"Why  didn't  you  say  for  Pasquale?"  The 
young  man  was  preparing  his  rope  swiftly  and 
efficiently.   "Did  the  general  say  what  horses.^" 

"He  named  the  roan  with  the  white  stockings 
and  the  white-nosed  buckskin." 

"Then  he's  going  to  travel  fast  and  far.  Why, 
in  the  devil's  name,  since  he  is  going  to  be  mar- 
ried in  the  morning.'^" 

"Why  does  the  general  always  do  what  is  n't 
expected.^  The  saints  know.  I  don't,"  growled 
Steve. 

Both  of  them  were  expert  ropers.  In  five  min- 
utes the  American  was  swallowed  in  the  dark- 
ness. He  was  astride  the  bare  back  of  the  buck- 
skin and  was  leading  the  other  ponies.  As  soon 
as  he  knew  he  was  safely  out  of  sight  and  hearing, 
he  deflected  toward  the  corral. 

His  friends  were  waiting  for  him  anxiously. 
Steve  dropped  lightly  to  the  ground. 

"Hold  the  horses  a  minute,  Frank,"  he  said. 

Striding  to  a  feed-stall  filled  with  alfalfa,  he 
237 


Steve  Yeager 

tossed  the  hay  aside  and  dragged  to  the  Hght  a 
saddle.  Presently  he  uncovered  a  second,  a 
third,  and  a  fourth. 

"Brought  them  here  last  night  —  stole  them 
from  the  storehouse,"  he  explained  casually. 

"You  did  n't  overlook  any  bets  —  thought  of 
everything,  even  to  saddle-blankets  and  water- 
bags  already  full,"  contributed  Farrar,  digging 
up  these  supplies  from  the  alfalfa. 

Steve  cinched  the  saddles  himself,  though 
Farrar  was  a  fair  horseman.  If  it  came  to  a  pinch 
the  turning  of  a  saddle  might  spoil  everything, 
and  so  far  as  he  could  the  range-rider  was  fore- 
stalling any  accidents  that  might  be  due  to  care- 
lessness. 

"How  long  am  I  to  wait  for  you.?"  asked 
Threewit. 

"We'd  ought  to  be  back  inside  of  an  hour  and 
a  half  —  if  luck 's  with  us.  But  we  may  be  de- 
layed by  some  one  hanging  around.  Give  us  two 
hours  or  even  two  and  a  half  —  unless  hell  begins 
to  pop."  Steve  looked  at  his  watch  in  the  moon- 
light. "Say  till  twelve  o'clock.  Of  course,  when 
you  go,  you  '11  leave  the  other  horses  here  on  the 
chance  that  we  come  later.  You'd  better  ride 
that  round-bellied  bay." 

"Am  I  to  follow  the  star  right  up  the  hill.^^" 

"No.  Better  take  the  draw.  The  sentinels  will 
be  on  the  hill.   Likely  they'll  see  you  and  shoot 

238 


Steve  Yeager 

at  you.  But  don't  stop,  even  if  they're  close- 
Keep  a-going.   They  can't  hit  a  barn  door." 

"Neither  can  I,"  lamented  the  director. 

"Then  you'll  all  be  safe."  Yeager  turned  to 
Farrar.   "Come  on,  Frank." 

The  two  crossed  the  pasture  to  the  river  and 
waded  through  the  shallow  stream  to  the  other 
side.  They  remained  in  the  shadows  of  the  bank, 
following  the  bend  of  the  river  as  it  circled  the 
village.  Through  the  cottonwoods  they  crept 
toward  the  rear  of  the  two-story  house  where 
Pasquale  lived  and  Ruth  was  held  prisoner. 

From  a  sandy  spot  at  the  foot  of  a  cottonwood 
tree  Yeager  dug  a  rope  ladder. 

"Been  making  it  while  I  was  night-herding  the 
remuda,"  he  told  Farrar  in  answer  to  a  surprised 
question. 

"Beats  me  you  did  n't  make  an  auto  for  us  to 
get  away  in,"  answered  his  admiring  friend  with 
a  grin. 

"Wait  here,"  whispered  Steve.  "I'm  going^ 
forward  to  look  the  ground  over.  Keep  your  eyes 
open  in  case  I  give  a  signal." 

The  range-rider  snaked  his  way  toward  the 
house,  moving  so  slowly  and  noiselessly  that 
Farrar  lost  sight  of  him  entirely  and  began  to 
wonder  where  he  had  gone.  It  must  have  been 
nearly  twenty  minutes  later  that  he  caught  a 
glimpse  of  him  without  his  rifle.    Yeager  was 

239 


Steve  Yeager 

engaged  in  confidential  talk  with  a  guard  in  uni- 
form. Frank  saw  the  bottle  pass  from  his  friend 
to  the  Mexican,  who  took  a  pull  at  it.  A  second 
guard  joined  the  two  presently.  He  also  took  a 
drink. 

The  three  disappeared  together  into  the  shad- 
owy darkness  of  the  house  wall.  Farrar  was  won- 
dering what  had  happened  when  a  single  figure 
emerged  into  the  moonlight  and  made  a  signal 
for  him  to  come  forward. 

Yeager  did  not  wait  for  him,  but  climbed  up 
the  post  of  the  back  porch  as  he  had  done  once 
before.  The  camera  man  was  on  hand  by  the 
time  Steve  reached  the  roof.  He  looked  up 
silently  while  his  friend  reached  across  and 
rapped  on  the  window  of  a  lighted  room.  The 
sash  was  raised  very  gently. 

Ruth  leaned  out.  "Is  it  you,  Steve.^^"  Her 
voice  was  tremulous  and  tearful.  It  was  a  safe 
guess  she  had  been  sobbing  her  misery  into  a 
pillow. 

"Yes." 

He  caught  hold  of  the  edge  of  the  window  and 
swung  across,  working  himself  up  and  in  by  sheer 
power  of  muscle.  Rapidly  he  fastened  the  end 
of  the  rope  ladder  to  the  head  of  the  bed,  which 
he  first  half  lifted  and  half  dragged  to  the  win- 
dow. The  rest  of  the  ladder  he  threw  out. 

"Ready,  Ruth.?"  he  asked,  turning  to  her. 
240 


Steve  Yeager 

She  nodded.  He  was  offering  his  arm  to  help 
her  through  the  window  when  a  frightened  call 
came  from  below. 

"Steve!" 

He  looked  down.  A  Mexican  trooper,  one  of , 
those  set  to  guard  the  front  of  the  house,  was 
approaching.  A  glance  was  enough  to  show  that 
he  knew  something  to  be  wrong.  His  startled 
eyes  passed  from  Farrar  to  the  rope  ladder.  They 
followed  it  from  the  ground  to  the  window.  He 
stopped,  almost  under  the  window.  The  camera 
man,  taken  aback,  did  not  know  what  to  do. 
Was  he  to  run  the  risk  of  a  shot.^  Even  while  he 
hesitated  the  man  in  uniform  reached  for  a 
revolver. 

Yeager  knew  what  to  do,  and  he  did  it 
promptly.  Sweeping  Ruth  back  from  the  win- 
dow, he  clambered  through  himself  and  poised 
his  body  for  the  leap.  The  sentry  looked  up 
again,  saw  what  was  about  to  happen,  and  let 
out  a  startled  scream  at  the  same  instant  that  he 
flung  up  an  arm  and  fired.  Steve  felt  a  sharp  sting 
in  his  leg  as  he  descended  through  the  air.  He 
landed  astride  on  the  shoulders  of  the  Mexican. 
The  man  went  to  earth,  hammered  down  so  hard 
that  the  breath  was  driven  from  his  body. 

The  arm  of  the  range-rider  rose  and  fell  once. 
In  his  hand  was  the  blue  barrel  of  a  revolver. 
The  corrugated  butt  of  the  .45  had  crashed  into 

241 


Steve  Yeager 

the  thick  matted  hair  of  the  Mexican.  But  it 
had  done  its  work.  Yeager  rose  quickly.  The 
soldier  lay  stilL 

Already  Ruth  was  coming  down  the  swaying 
ladder.   She  dropped  the  last  few  rounds  with  a 
rush,  plump  into  the  arms  of  Steve. 
"    **Let  us  hurry  —  hurry,"  she  cried. 

It  was  time  to  be  gone,  if  not  too  late.  Already 
men  were  converging  upon  them  from  different 
sides.  Others  were  bawling  orders  for  soldiers 
to  turn  out. 

Steve  went  down  almost  as  quickly  as  He  had 
risen.   His  leg  had  given  way  unexpectedly. 

Before  he  reached  his  feet  again  his  revolver 
was  out  and  doing  business. 

'Tire  at  their  legs,  Frank.  All  we  w^ant  to  do 
is  to  stop  them.  Ruth,  you  run  ahead,  straight 
for  the  trees.  We'll  be  with  you  in  a  minute," 
Yeager  gave  orders  quietly. 

The  girl  flashed  one  look  at  him,  found  assur- 
ance in  his  strong,  lean  face,  and  obeyed  without 
a  word. 

Farrar's  rifle  was  already  scattering  bullets 
rather  wildly  into  the  night.  Lead  spattered 
against  the  adobe  wall  behind  them.  But  the 
attackers  were  checked.  Their  fire  was  of  a 
desultory  character.  There  was  such  a  thing  as 
being  too  impetuous.  Who  were  these  men  they 
were  assailing.^  Perhaps  they  were  acting  under 

242 


Steve  Yeager 

orders  of  Pasquale.   Better  not  be  too  rash.   So 
the  mind  of  the  peon  soldiers  decided. 

As  soon  as  Ruth  had  reached  the  shelter  of  the 
grove  her  friends  moved  to  join  her.  They  were 
halfway  across  the  open  when  the  cowpimcher 
plunged  to  the  ground  again. 

The  camera  man  turned  and  ran  back  to  him. 
"What  is  it,  Steve?  Have  they  hit  you?"  he 
asked  anxiously. 

"Plugged  a  pill  into  my  laig  as  I  took  the  ele- 
vator down  from  the  second  story.  Gimme  a 
hand  up." 

Frank  put  an  arm  around  his  waist  as  a  sup- 
port and  they  reached  cover  just  as  the  leg  failed 
for  a  third  time.  Yeager  crawled  forward  a  few 
yards  on  his  knees  into  the  underbrush. 

Soft  arms  slid  around  his  neck  and  shoulder  as 
someone  plumped  down  beside  him. 

"You're  wounded.  You've  been  shot,"  Ruth 
breathed  tremulously. 

"  Yes,"  assented  Yeager.  "  Hand  me  your  rifle, 
Frank." 

They  exchanged  weapons.  Steve  had  already 
made  up  his  mind  exactly  what  was  best  to  do. 

"I'm  going  to  stay  here  awhile  and  hold  them 
back.  You  go  on  with  Ruth,  Frank.  Leave  a 
horse  for  me.   I'll  be  along  later,"  he  explained. 

"We're  not  going  away  to  leave  you  here," 
protested  Ruth  indignantly. 

US 


Steve  Yeager 

His  voice  was  so  matter  of  fact  and  his  manner 
so  competent  that  she  had  already  drawn  back, 
half  ashamed,  from  the  caressing  support  to 
which  her  feelings  had  driven  her. 

He  turned  on  her  eyes  cool  and  steely.  "  You  're 
going  to  do  as  I  say,  girl.  You're  wasting  time 
for  all  of  us  every  moment  you  stay.  Take  her, 
Frank." 

Farrar  spoke  in  a  low  voice  of  troubled  doubt. 
"But  what  are  you  going  to  do,  Steve .^  We  can't 
leave  you  here." 

The  bullets  of  the  Mexicans  were  searching  the 
grove  for  them.  Any  moment  one  might  find  a 
mark. 

The  range-rider  made  a  gesture  of  angry  im- 
patience. "You  obey  orders  fine,  don't  you.^'* 
His  face  flashed  sudden  anger.  "Get  out.  I 
know  my  plans,  don't  I.^  Pull  your  freight. 
Vamos!" 

"And  you'll  be  along  later,  will  you.^^" 

"Of  course  I  will.  I've  got  it  all  arranged. 
Hurry,  or  it  will  be  too  late." 

Ruth  half  guessed  his  purpose.  She  began  to 
sob,  but  let  herself  be  hurried  away  by  Farrar. 

"  He 's  going  to  stay  there.  He 's  not  coming  at 
all,"  she  wailed  as  she  ran. 

"Sho!  Of  course  he's  coming.  You  know 
Steve,  don't  you?  He's  always  got  something 
good  up  his  sleeve." 

244 


Steve  Yeager 

But  though  her  friend  reassured  her,  he  could 
not  still  his  own  fears.  Something  in  him  cried 
out  against  the  desertion  of  a  wounded  ally,  one 
who  had  risked  his  life  to  save  them  all.  Still, 
there  was  the  girl  to  be  considered.  If  Yeag^ 
wanted  to  give  his  life  for  hers  he  had  the  right. 
Many  a  good  man  of  the  Southwest  would  have 
done  what  Steve  was  doing,  given  the  same  cir- 
cumstances. It  was  up  to  him,  Farrar,  to  back 
his  friend's  play  and  see  it  through. 

Yeager  crawled  on  his  hands  and  knees  into  a 
mesquite  thicket  from  which  he  could  command 
a  view  of  the  open  space  back  of  Pasquale's 
house.  He  broke  carefully  half  a  dozen  twigs  that 
interfered  with  the  free  play  of  his  rifle.  Then  he 
placed  his  revolver  beside  him  ready  for  action. 
After  which  he  waited,  tense  and  watchful. 

Mexicans  were  swarming  about  the  back  of  the 
house.  One  climbed  the  rope  ladder,  looked  in 
the  window,  and  explained  with  much  gesturing 
to  those  below  that  the  room  was  empty.  Ran- 
dom shots  were  thrown  toward  the  river  and  into 
the  grove.  But  nobody  headed  the  pursuit.  They 
were  waiting  for  a  leader. 

Then  Pasquale  burst  furiously  into  sight 
around  the  house.  Culvera,  Ochampa,  and  Hol- 
comb  followed  him.  The  general  flung  himself 
into  an  excited  group,  tossing  to  right  and  left 
those  who  were  in  his  way.    He  snapped  out 

U5 


Steve  Yeager 

questions,  gave  orders,  and  stamped  over  the 
ground  like  a  madman. 

Called  by  Culvera,  he  strode  forward  to  one  of 
the  drugged  guards.  In  an  impotent  fury  he 
shook  the  man,  trying  to  waken  him  from  his 
sleep;  then,  raging  at  his  failure,  he  flung  the 
helpless  body  against  the  wall  and  turned  on  his 
heel. 

Order  began  to  evolve  out  of  the  mob.  Pas- 
quale  himself  organized  the  pursuit.  He  spread 
the  line  out  so  that  as  it  advanced  it  would  sweep 
the  whole  space  to  the  river.  There  was  no  longer 
any  wild  firing.  Men  brought  from  the  stables 
eight  or  ten  horses  for  the  officers. 

As  the  line  moved  forward,  Yeager  thought  it 
time  to  let  the  enemy  know  where  he  was.  He 
drew  a  bead  on  the  general,  moved  his  rifle 
slightly  to  the  left,  and  fired.  Pasquale  drew  his 
sword  and  waved  it. 

"Take  the  girl  alive.  Shoot  down  the  traitor 
dogs  with  her,"  he  cried  savagely.  "  One  hundred 
pesos  to  the  man  who  kills  either  of  them  or  cap- 
tures her." 

Steve  answered  this  by  firing  twice,  once  with 
his  revolver  and  almost  immediately  afterward 
with  his  rifle.  Ochampa  sat  down  suddenly.  He 
had  been  hit  in  the  leg. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

THE   PRISONER 

Pasquale  changed  his  tactics.  Having  located 
his  prey  with  fair  accuracy,  he  spread  his  men  so 
as  to  converge  upon  the  fugitives  as  the  spokes  of 
a  wheel  do  toward  the  hub.  His  instructions  were 
that  the  men  were  not  to  fire  unless  they  were 
within  close  enough  range  to  be  sure  not  to  hit  the 
girl. 

His  courage  had  been  tested  often  enough  to  be 
beyond  doubt,  so  Gabriel  contented  himself  with 
waiting  behind  his  horse  for  the  captives  to  be 
brought  to  him.  He  had  no  intention  of  being 
killed  in  a  skirmish  of  this  kind  as  long  as  he  had 
peons  to  send  forward  in  his  place. 

"Bet  five  dollars  gold  I  have  them  inside  of  a 
quarter  of  an  hour,  captain,"  the  Mexican  gen- 
eral said,  peering  across  his  saddle  toward  the 
grove. 

**  Yes,"  assented  Major  Ochampa  in  a  depressed 
voice.  He  objected  to  having  camp  vagrants 
take  liberties  with  his  leg.  "Hope  you  make  an 
example  of  them,  general." 

Pasquale  turned,  his  eyes  like  cold  lights  on  a 
Tp^tv  night.  "  They  '11  pray  for  death  a  hundred 

247 


Steve  Yeager 

times  before  it  comes  to  them,"  he  promised  bru- 
tally. Then,  with  quick  surprise,  "Where's  Hol- 
comb?" 

"He  went  forward  with  the  men." 

"Just  like  him,"  replied  Gabriel,  shrugging 
his  shoulders.  "The  madman  must  always  be 
in  the  thick  of  it.  It's  the  Gringo  way." 

From  his  mesquite  thicket  Yeager  kept  up  as 
rapid  a  fire  as  possible,  using  rifle  and  revolver 
alternately  so  as  to  deceive  the  enemy  into  believ- 
ing the  whole  party  was  there.  His  object  was 
merely  to  gain  time  for  his  escaping  friends. 
Ochampa  had  been  wounded  as  an  object  lesson, 
but  he  did  not  intend  to  kill  any  of  those  who 
were  surrounding  him.  If  there  had  been  a  dozen 
of  them  he  would  have  fought  it  out  to  a  finish, 
but  with  one  against  a  thousand  he  felt  it  would 
be  useless  murder  to  kill. 

Steve  fired  into  the  air,  knowing  that  would  do 
just  as  well  to  delay  the  attackers.  Each  time  he 
fired  his  revolver  he  called  aloud  softly  to  himself 
the  number  of  the  shot.  It  was  essential  to  his 
plan  that  there  should  be  one  bullet  left  the 
moment  before  they  took  him. 

He  could  hear  them  stumbling  toward  him 
through  the  brush  and  could  make  out  the  dark 
figures  as  they  crawled  forward. 

"Four,"  he  counted  as  he  fired  his  revolver  into 
the  air  and  cut  off  a  twig. 

248 


Steve  Yeager 

His  rifle  sang  out  twice.  He  waited,  listening. 
Bushes  crackled  a  few  yards  behind  him.  Snatch- 
ing up  his  revolver,  he  turned. 

"Don't  fire,  Steve,"  said  a  low  voice  in  per- 
fectly good  English. 

Holcomb  came  out  of  the  thicket  toward 
him. 

"Hello,  captain.  Nice  large  warm  evening. 
You  out  taking  the  air?"  asked  the  cowpuncher. 

"Did  the  rest  get  away?" 

"Hope  so.  I  had  rotten  luck.  One  of  the 
guards  plugged  me  in  the  leg,  so  I  thought  I'd 
kinder  keep  the  Legion  busy  while  our  friends 
make  their  getaway." 

"Can't  you  run?" 

"Can't  even  walk."  Yeager  raised  the  revol- 
ver and  fired.   "Five.  One  left  now." 

His  eye  met  that  of  the  captain.  Each  of  them, 
understood  perfectly. 

"That  first  shot  of  yours  just  missed  Pasquale. 
Pity  you  did  n't  shoot  straighter." 

"I  had  a  dead  beat  on  the  old  scamp,  but  I 
did  n't  want  him.  If  Ruth  gets  away,  that 's  all 
I  ask.  He 's  all  kinds  of  a  wolf,  but  Mexico  needs 
him,  I  reckon." 

"You're  right  about  that,  Steve.  It  woidd  n't 
have  done  you  any  good  to  lay  him  out.  Here 
they  come." 

A  man  ploughed  through  the  brush  toward 
^49 


Steve  Yeager 

them.  Another  appeared  to  the  left.  The  face  of 
a  third  peered  around  the  trunk  of  an  adjacent 
Cottonwood.  Of  a  sudden  the  grove  seemed  aHve 
with  them. 

Raising  his  gun,  Steve  nodded  farewell  to  hie 
friend. 

A  moment  before  Holcomb  had  had  no  inten- 
tion of  interfering,  but  an  impulse  that  was 
almost  an  inspiration  gave  springs  to  his  muscles. 
He  leaped. 

The  fling  of  his  arm  sent  the  shot  flying  wildly 
mto  the  night.  Yeager  turned  on  him  furiously 
as  he  picked  himself  up  to  his  knees 

"  What  did  you  do  that  for.? " 

"I  don't  know  —  had  no  intention  of  it  a  mo- 
ment before.  Maybe  I've  done  you  a  bad  turn, 
Steve.  It  came  over  me  as  a  hunch  that  you  were 
coming  out  of  this  all  right." 

"The  devil  it  did.  Gimme  your  gim.  Quick!** 

It  was  tvo  late.  The  Mexicans  were  closing 
with  him.  They  flung  him  down  and  pegged  him 
to  the  ground  with  their  weight.  He  made  no 
attempt  to  struggle. 

"Get  off  of  him.  He's  my  prisoner,"  roared 
Holcomb,  flinging  one  of  the  Mexicans  back. 

They  poured  on  him  a  flood  of  protesting  Span- 
ish. They  had  taken  him  while  he  was  still  at 
large.  The  reward  was  theirs. 

"  Confound  the  reward.  You  may  have  it,  but 
£50 


Steve  Yeager 

the  man  belongs  to  me.  Get  up.  He's  woimded. 
Two  of  you  will  have  to  carry  him." 

"But  if  he  tries  to  escape,  senor  — " 

"Don't  be  a  fool,"  snapped  Holcomb  curtly. 

The  captain  was  troubled  in  his  heart.  Had  he 
saved  this  fine  yoimg  fellow  to  be  the  plaything 
of  old  Pasquale's  vengeance?  He  knew  well 
enough  what  would  happen  to  the  Arizonian  if 
Ruth  escaped.  But  as  long  as  there  was  life  there 
was  a  chance.  Something  might  turn  up  yet  to 
save  him. 

When  Pasquale  found  that  only  an  insignifi- 
cant peon  Pedro  Cabenza  had  been  taken  in  his 
dragnet,  he  exploded  with  fury.  He  ordered  the 
man  shct  against  the  nearest  wall  at  once. 

Culvera  turned  the  prisoner  so  that  the  moon 
fell  full  upon  his  face.  He  looked  searchingly  at 
him.  Yeager  knew  that  he  was  discovered.  He 
iq)oke  in  English. 

"Good-evening,  Colonel  Culvera.  YouVe 
guessed  right,  but  you've  guessed  it  a  little  too 
late." 

"What  is  this?  Who  is  this  man?"  demanded 
Pasquale  harshly. 

"The  man  Yeager,  who  escaped  from  you  two 
weeks  since,"  explained  Ramon.  "He  has  been 
in  camp  with  us  over  a  week  arranging  this  girl's 
escape." 

The  old  general  let  out  a  bellow  of  rage.  He 
.  251 


Steve  Yeager 

strode  forward  to  make  sure  for  himself.  Roughly 
he  seized  his  prisoner  by  the  hair  of  the  head  and 
twisted  the  face  toward  him. 

"Sorry  I  had  to  leave  you  so  abruptly  last 
time,  general.  Did  you  have  a  pleasant  night?'* 
taunted  Yeager. 

Gabriel  choked.  He  was  beyond  words. 

"I  see  you  have  n't  been  able  to  get  anybody 
else  to  assassinate  your  friend  Culvera  yet,"  he 
said  pleasantly. 

The  American  had  given  up  hope  of  life.  He 
was  trying  to  spur  Pasquale  into  such  an  imcon- 
trollable  anger  that  his  death  would  be  a  swift 
and  easy  one. 

"Tie  him  hand  and  foot.  Let  a  dozen  men 
armed  with  rifles  stay  in  the  room  with  him  till  I 
return.  Ochampa,  I  hold  you  responsible.  If  he 
escapes  — " 

" He  won't  escape/'  answered  the  major.  "I '11 
see  to  that  myself." 

"See  that  you  do."  Pasquale  swung  to  the 
saddle  and  looked  around.  "Ramon,  you're  not 
a  fool.  Where  shall  we  look  for  this  girl  and  those 
with  her?"  he  demanded,  scowling. 

"They  must  have  horses  to  escape,  general. 
Except  in  the  stable  here,  which  is  guarded  heav- 
ily, the  nearest  are  across  the  river  in  the  direc- 
tion they  must  be  moving." 

"Of  course.  Juan,  have  the  remuda  driven  up 
252 


Steve  Yeager 

and  let  every  man  saddle  his  horse.  We'll  comb 
these  hills  if  we  must.  Maldito!  She  shan't 
escape  me." 

He  galloped  oflF  at  the  head  of  his  troop,  taking 
the  short  cut  to  the  pasture. 

The  prisoner  was  dragged  into  the  house  where 
Ochampa  was  staying.  A  doctor  presently  ar- 
rived and  took  care  of  the  wounded  leg  of  the 
major.  After  he  had  finished  dressing  it,  he 
turned  to  Yeager. 

"No  use  bothering  with  mine.  I'll  have  worse 
wounds  soon,"  the  man  from  Arizona  told  him 
calmly. 

The  little  doctor  smiled  genially  because  his 
heart  was  good.  "Quien  sabe,  senor.^^  Yet  it  is 
my  duty,"  he  reminded  his  patient  gently. 

"Old  Gabriel  might  not  say  so,"  demurred 
Steve. 

Yet  he  conceded  the  point  and  let  the  surgeon 
minister  to  him.  There  was  no  anaesthetic.  The 
patient  had  to  set  his  teeth  and  bear  the  pain 
while  the  bullet  was  removed  and  the  wound 
washed  and  dressed.  Little  beads  of  perspiration 
stood  out  on  his  forehead.  The  lean  muscles  of 
his  cheeks  stood  out  like  ropes.  But  no  sound 
escaped  his  lips. 

"You  are  a  brave  man,"  said  the  doctor  when 
he  had  finished.   "I  wish  you  good  fortime,  sir.'* 

A  faint  smile  rested  in  the  eyes  of  the  cow- 
253 


Steve  Yeager 

puncher.  "I'm  right  likely  to  have  it,  don't  you 
think?*'  he  asked  ironically. 

Whether  Ochampa  suspected  Holcomb  of  being 
in  collusion  with  his  countryman  or  was  merely 
taking  no  chances,  the  prisoner  had  no  way  of 
telling.  But  the  major  refused  flatly  to  let  the 
artillery  officer  into  the  room. 

"Tell  him  he  can  see  the  man  after  the  general 
returns  —  if  the  general  wants  him,  to  see  him." 
he  told  the  messenger. 

They  could  hear  the  voice  of  Holcomb,  angry 
and  insistent,  protesting  against  such  treatment. 
But  a  file  of  soldiers  stood  between  him  and  the 
room.  He  had  to  retire  defeated. 

Slate-colored  dawn  rolled  up  without  the 
return  of  Pasquale.  With  every  passing  hour 
Steve  gathered  hope.  It  was  certain  that  Ruth 
and  her  friends  had  escaped  through  the  lines  or 
they  must  have  been  brought  back  long  ago.  And 
if  they  once  reached  the  hills  and  became  lost 
among  them,  they  would  surdy  be  safe  from  pur- 
suit. 

The  prisoner  was  drinking  a  cup  of  coffee  the 
doctor  had  brought  him  when  the  sound  of  horses' 
hoofs  came  to  him  through  the  open  window. 

The  voice  of  Pasquale  rang  out,  and  at  the 
sound  of  it  Steve's  heart  grew  chill.  For  there 
was  in  the  timbre  of  it  a  brutal,  jovial  triumph. 

"Take  these  horses,  boys,  —  feed  them,  water 
^54 


Steve  Yeager 

them.  Let  the  girl  go  to  her  room,  Ramon,  but 
see  that  she  is  watched  every  minute.  Garcia, 
attend  to  the  Gringos." 

€Ie  strode  into  the  room  where  Yeager  was 
detained.  His  greedy  Httle  eyes  sparkled;  his 
face  exuded  malice  and  self-conceit. 

*'  Ho,  ho,  amigo !  Who  laughs  now.^  "  he  jeered. 
**I  found  your  friends  —  stumbled  on  them  in  a 
pocket  of  the  hills  while  we  were  returning.  They 
bad  lost  their  way,  of  course,  since  Senor  Yeager 
was  unfortunately  not  able  to  go  along.  So  I 
brought  them  home  to  breakfast.  Was  I  not 
kind?" 

He  threw  back  his  head  and  laughed.  Steve 
said  nothing.  His  heart  was  sick.  He  had  thrown 
the  dice  for  his  great  chance  and  lost. 

"First,  to  breakfast,"  repeated  the  Mexican. 
**  And  afterward  —  the  young  lady  shall  have 
loTe.  Por  Dios,  you  shall  be  at  the  wedding," 
decided  Pasquale  on  malicious  impulse,  hammer- 
ing on  the  table  with  his  great  fist. 

"If  I  had  only  had  the  sense  to  pull  the  trigger 
last  night  when  I  had  you  at  my  mercy,"  Yeager 
commented  aloud. 

"Yes,  you  and  all  her  friends  —  you  shall  all 
be  there  to  wish  her  joy  —  even  Holcomb,  who 
wearies  me  with  his  protests.  Maldito!  Is 
Gabriel  Pasquale  not  good  enough  for  a  kitchen 
wench  from  Arizona.^" 

ft55 


Steve  Yeager 

"It's  an  outrage  beyond  belief.'* 

"And  afterward  —  while  the  little  chatita 
makes  love  to  Gabriel  —  her  friend  Steve  whom 
she  loves  will  suffer  his  punishment  with  what 
fortitude  he  can." 

"And  her  other  friends.^" 

"Behold,  it  is  a  great  day,  senor.  Not  so?  If 
the  chatita,  linda  de  mi  alma  (pugnosed  one, 
pretty  creature  of  my  love) ,  asks  for  their  freedom, 
she  shall  have  it.  I,  Gabriel,  will  send  them  home 
under  safe  escort.  Am  I  not  generous  .^^  A  kind 
lover?  Not  so?" 

Steve  turned  his  head  away  and  looked  through 
the  window  at  the  sun  rising  behind  the  distant 
hilk.  There  was  nothing  to  be  said. 


•w 


CHAPTER  XXV 

THE  TEXAN  TAKES  A  LONG  JOURNEY 

Pasquale  was  as  good  as  his  word.  He 
arranged  that  Yeager  should  see  the  function 
from  first  to  last.  The  wounded  man,  his  hands 
tied  behind  his  back,  heavily  guarded,  was  in  the 
front  row  of  the  crowd  which  lined  the  short 
walk  between  the  headquarters  of  the  general 
and  the  little  adobe  church.  The  petty  officer  in 
command  told  him  that  after  the  bridal  proces- 
sion had  passed  he  was  to  be  taken  into  the  bal- 
cony of  the  church  for  the  ceremony. 

"And  afterward,  while  Gabriel  makes  love  to 
the  muchacha,  the  Gringo  Yeager  will  learn  what 
it  means  to  displease  the  Liberator,"  promised 
the  brown  man  with  a  twinkle  of  cruel  little  eyes. 

Steve  gave  no  sign  that  he  heard.  He  under- 
stood perfectly  that  the  ingenuity  of  Pasquale 
would  make  the  day  one  long  succession  of  tor- 
tures for  him.  It  was  up  to  him  to  mask  his  face 
and  manner  with  the  stoicism  of  an  Apache. 

At  a  little  distance  he  saw  Farrar  and  Threewit, 
both  of  them  very  anxious  and  pale.  He  would 
have  called  a  greeting  to  them  except  that  he  was 
afraid  it  might  prejudice  their  chances. 

257 


Steve  Yeager 

Captain  Holcomb  passed  in  front  of  him  and 
stopped. 

"Mornin',  Steve/'  lie  said. 

"Mornin',  captain."  The  haggard  eyes  of  the 
cowpiincher  asked  a  question  before  his  lips 
framed  it.  "Can't  you  do  anything  for  the  Uttk 
girl?  Has  this  hellish  thing  got  to  go  through.^" 

**The  prisoner  will  keep  silent,"  snapped  the 
Mexican  sergeant. 

Holcomb  looked  at  the  man  with  eyes  of  chill 
authority.  "When  I  speak  to  the  prisoner  he 
answers.   Understand?" 

"Si,  senor,"  muttered  the  sergeant,  taken 
^ack.   "But  the  general  said  — " 

** Forget  it,"  cut  in  the  Texan  crisply.  He 
turned  to  Yeager  and  spoke  deliberately,  looking 
straight  at  him.  "  Pasquale  is  going  through  with 
this  thing.  Jipt  as  sure  as  the  old  reprobate  is 
alive  the  padre  will  marry  your  little  friend  to 
him  within  half  an  hour." 

Was  Captain  Holcomb  giving  him  a  message? 
Steve  did  not  know.  It  seemed  to  him  that  there 
was  some  hidden  meaning  in  the  long  look  of  the 
steady  eyes. 

The  soldier  nodded  curtly  and  turned  away. 
The  Texan  was  dressed  with  unusual  care.  He 
was  wearing  tanned  boots  newly  polished  and 
the  trim  khaki  uniform  of  an  officer  of  the  United 
States  Army.  Looking  at  him,  Yeager  thought  he 

25S 


Steve  Yeager 

had  never  seen  a  finer  figure  of  a  man.  He  carried 
himself  with  the  light  firmness  of  a  trained  sol- 
dier. 

The  cowpuncher  was  puzzled.  Had  Holcomb 
an  ace  up  his  sleeve.'^  If  so,  what  could  it  be.^  He 
had  said  that  the  marriage  would  be  pushed 
through  just  as  sure  as  Pasquale  was  alive.  Had 
there  been  the  slightest  emphasis  on  that  part  of 
the  sentence?  Steve  was  not  certain.  It  had 
struck  him  that  the  captain's  soft  voice  had  lin- 
gered on  the  words,  but  that  might  have  been 
fancy.  Yet  he  could^ot  escape  the  feeling  that 
something  tragic  was  impending. 

The  chattering  of  the  peons  crowded  in  the 
road  died  away  as  if  at  a  signal.  From  the  other 
end  of  the  line  rose  a  shout.  "Viva  Pasquale! 
Viva  Pasquale!" 

Troopers  pushed  through  an  A  opened  up  a 
lane. 

The  general  was  for  once  in  full  uniform.  Evi- 
dently he  had  just  come  from  the  hands  of  a 
barber.  His  fierce  mustache  and  eyebrows  had 
been  trimmed  and  subdued.  He  smiled  broadly 
as  he  bowed  to  the  plaudits  of  his  men. 

Then  he  turned  and  Steve  caught  sight  of  the 
bride.  Colorless  to  the  lips,  she  trembled  as  she 
moved  forward,  her  eyes  on  the  ground. 

It  was  as  if  some  bell  rang  within  her  to  tell  of 
the  presence  of  her  lover.    Ruth  raised  her  big 

259 


Steve  Yeager 

sad  eyes  and  they  met  those  of  Steve.  Her  lips 
framed  his  name  soundlessly.  She  seemed  to 
lean  toward  him,  straining  from  Pasquale,  whose 
arm  supported  her. 

Somehow  she  broke  free  and  flung  herself  to-^ 
ward  the  man  she  loved.  Her  arms  fastened 
around  his  neck.  With  a  shivering  sob  she  clung 
tightly  to  him. 

Pasquale,  his  eyes  stabbing  with  brutal  rage, 
dragged  her  back  and  held  her  wrist  in  his  sinewy 
brown  hand.  His  teeth  were  clenched,  the  veins 
in  his  temples  swollen.  He  glared  at  the  cow- 
pimcher  as  if  he  would  like  to  murder  him  on  the 
spot. 

The  padre  touched  Gabriel  on  the  arm.  With 
a  start  the  Liberator  came  to  himself.  The  pro- 
cession moved  forward  again.  Not  a  word  had 
been  spoken,  but  Pasquale's  golden  smile  had 
vanished.  The  fingernails  of  his  clenched  fist  bit 
savagely  into  the  palm  of  his  hand. 

From  the  procession  Culvera  saluted  Yeager 
ironically.   *' Buenos  and  adios,  senor." 

The  man  to  whom  he  spoke  did  not  even  know 
the  Mexican  was  there.  His  eyes  and  his  mind 
were  following  the  girl  who  was  being  driven  to 
her  doom. 

From  out  of  the  crowd  edging  the  walk  a  man 
stepped.  It  was  Adam  Holcomb.  He  stood 
directly  in  front  of  Pasquale  and  his  bride, 

^60 


Steve  Yeager 

blocking  the  way.  There  was  a  strange  light  in 
his  eyes.  It  was  as  if  he  looked  from  the  present 
fax  into  the  future,  as  if  somehow  he  were  a  god, 
an  Olympian  who  held  in  his  hand  the  shears  of 
destiny. 

The  general,  still  furious,  flung  an  angry  look 
at  him.   "Well.?"  he  demanded  harshly. 

"I  want  to  ask  the  lady  a  question,  gener&L" 

Impatient  rage  boiled  out  of  Pasquale  in  an 
imperious  gesture  of  his  arm.  "Afterward,  cap- 
tain. You  shall  ask  her  a  hundred.  Move  aside." 

"I'll  ask  it  now.  This  wedding  does  n't  go  on 
until  I  hear  from  the  young  lady  that  she  is  will- 
ing," he  annoimced. 

Ruth  tried  to  nm  forward  to  him,  but  the  iron 
grip  of  the  Mexican  stayed  her.  "Save  me,"  she 
oried. 

"By  God!  I  will." 

"Arrest  that  man,"  ordered  Pasquale  in  a 
passion. 

At  the  same  time  he  pushed  Ruth  from  him 
into  the  crowd  that  lined  the  path.  The  brown 
fingers  of  the  Mexican  chief  closed  upon  the 
handle  of  his  revolver. 

"Here's  where  I  go  on  a  long  journey,"  the 
Texan  cried. 

He  dragged  out  an  army  forty-five.  Pasquale 
and  he  fired  at  the  same  instant.  The  Mexican 
dutched  at  his  heart  and  swayed  back  into  the 


Steve  Yeager 

crowd,  Holcomb  staggered,  but  recovered  him* 
self.  He  faced  the  other  Mexican  officers,  tossed 
away  his  revolver,  and  folded  his  arms. 

"  Whenever  you  are  ready,  gentlemen,"  he  said 
quietly. 

Ramon  Culvera  was  the  first  to  recover.  From 
his  automatic  revolver  he  flung  a  bullet  into  the 
straight,  erect  figure  facing  him.  The  others 
crowded  forward  and  fired  into  the  body  as  it 
began  to  sink.  The  Texan  gave  a  sobbing  sigh. 
Before  his  knees  reached  the  ground  he  was  dead. 

The  suddenness  of  the  tragedy,  its  unexpected^ 
ness,  held  the  crowd  with  suspended  breath. 
What  was  to  follow?  Was  this  the  beginning  of 
a  massacre?  Each  man  looked  at  his  neighbor. 
Another  moment  might  bring  forth  anything. 

With  a  bound  Ramon  vaulted  to  the  saddle  of 
a  horse  standing  near.  His  sword  made  a  half- 
circle  of  steel  as  it  swept  through  the  air.  From 
where  he  sat  he  could  be  seen  by  all. 

"Brothers  of  the  Legion,  patriots  all,  let  none 
become  excited.  I  have  killed  with  my  own  hand 
the  traitor  who  shot  our  beloved  leader.  Gabriel 
Pasquale  is  dead,  but  our  country  lives.  Viva 
Mexico!" 

The  answer  came  from  thousands  of  brown, 
upturned  faces.  "Viva  Mexico!  Viva  Culvera!" 

The  young  officer  swung  the  sword  around  his 
head.    His  eyes  flashed.    "Gracias.    Friends,  I 

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Steve  Yeager 

sol«niily  pledge  my  life  to  the  great  cause  of  the 
people.  Our  hero  is  dead.  We  mourn  him  and 
devote  ourselves  anew  to  the  principles  for  which 
he  fought.  Never  shall  I  lay  down  this  sword 
until  I  have  won  for  you  the  rights  of  a  free  na- 
tion. I  promise  you  land  for  all,  wealth  for  all, 
freedom  from  tyranny.  Down  with  all  the  foes 
of  the  poor." 

Again  the  shouts  rang  out,  this  time  loud«-  and 
clearer.  Already  these  simple,  childlike  peons 
were  answering  the  call  of  their  new  master.  Old 
Pasquale,  who  for  years  had  held  their  lives  in  the 
hollow  of  his  hand,  lay  crimipled  on  the  ground 
almost  forgotten.  A  new  star  was  shining  in  their 
firmament. 

"  We  shall  march  to  Mexico,  down  the  usurper, 
and  distribute  the  stolen  wealth  of  him  and  his 
pampered  minions  among  the  people  to  whom  it 
belongs.  Every  Mexican  shall  have  a  house,  land, 
cattle.  He  shall  be  the  slave  of  none.  His  chil- 
dren shall  be  fed.  We  shall  have  peace  and  plenty. 
I,  Ramon  Culvera,  swear  it.  Mexico  for  the 
Mexicans." 

Culvera  was  an  orator.  His  resonant  voice 
stirred  the  emotions  of  this  ragged  mob  that 
under  the  leadership  of  Pasquale  had  been  ham- 
mered into  an  army  efficient  enough  to  defeat 
well-armed  regulars.  The  men  pressed  clooer  to 
listen.  Their  primitive  faces  reflected  the  ^Lcite- 

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Steve  Yeager 

ment  the  speaker  stirred  in  them.   They  inter- 
rupted with  shouts  and  cheers. 

Others  among  the  officers  had  ambitions  for 
kadership,  but  they  knew  now  that  Ramon  had 
made  the  moment  his  and  forestalled  them.  He 
had  won  the  army  over  to  him. 

He  spoke  briefly,  but  he  took  pains  to  see  that 
no  other  speaker  followed  him.  The  plaudits  for 
"General  Culvera"  rang  like  sweet  music  in  his 
ears.  They  told  him  that  he  had  at  a  bound 
passed  the  officers  who  ranked  him  and  was 
already  in  efifect  chief  of  the  Army  of  the  North, 

Briefly  he  gave  directions  for  the  care  of  the 
body  of  the  dead  general  and  for  the  safety  of  the 
American  prisoners  pending  a  disposition  of  their 
cases.  Before  dismissing  the  army,  he  called  an 
immediate  conference  of  the  officers. 

Resolved  to  strike  while  the  iron  was  hot, 
Culvera  took  charge  of  the  meeting  of  officers 
and  proposed  at  once  the  election  of  a  general  to 
succeed  Pasquale.  His  associates  were  taken  by 
surprise.  They  looked  out  of  the  windows  and 
saw  pacing  up  and  down  the  armed  sentries 
Ramon  had  set.  They  heard  still  an  occasional 
distant  cheer  for  the  new  leader.  Given  time, 
they  might  have  organized  an  opposition.  But 
Culvera  drove  them  to  instant  decision.  They 
faced  the  imperious  will  of  a  man  who  would 
stick  at  nothing  to  satisfy  his  ambition. 

£64 


Steve  Yeager 

Moreover,  Ramon  was  popular.  He  was  of  a 
good  family,  democratic  in  manner,  never  arro- 
gant on  the  surface  to  his  equals.  It  had  been  his 
object  to  make  friends  against  the  possibility  of 
just  such  a  contingency.  Most  of  the  oflficers 
liked,  even  though  they  did  not  fully  trust  him. 
They  recognized  that  he  had  the  necessary  confi- 
dence in  himself  for  success  and  also  the  touch  of 
dramatic  genius  that  may  make  of  a  soldier  a 
pubhc  idol. 

For  which  reasons  they  submitted  to  his  domi- 
nation and  elected  him  successor  of  Pasquale  as 
commander  of  the  Legion  of  the  North.  Where- 
upon Ramon  unburdened  himself  of  another 
fiery  oration  of  patriotism  full  of  impossible 
pledges. 

The  newly  chosen  general  sent  an  orderly  out 
to  proclaim  the  day  a  holiday  and  to  see  that 
mescal  was  served  to  all  the  men  in  honor  of  the 
event.  After  which  the  conference  discussed  the 
fate  of  the  American  prisoners. 


i 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

AT   SUNSET 

Steve,  In  solitary  confinement,  with  only  ins 
throbbing  leg  for  company,  was  under  no  illu- 
sions as  to  what  his  punishment  would  be.  Pas- 
quale  had  been  killed  by  an  American  who  had 
been  seen  talking  with  Yeager  five  minutes  before 
he  had  shot  the  general.  The  charge  against  him 
would  probably  be  conspiracy,  but  it  did  not 
much  matter  what  the  excuse  was.  His  life  would 
be  snuffed  out  certainly. 

There  were  several  reasons  why  Culvera  should 
sacrifice  him  and  not  one  why  he  should  be 
spared.  Ramon  had  a  personal  grudge  against 
him,  and  the  new  commander  was  not  a  man  to 
forget  to  pay  debts  of  this  kind.  Moreover,  the 
easiest  way  to  still  any  whispered  doubts  of  his 
own  loyalty  to  Pasquale  was  to  show  sharp  sever- 
ity in  punishing  those  charged  with  being  impli- 
cated in  his  death. 

Yeager  accepted  it  as  settled  that  he  was 
doomed. 

But  what  about  his  friends?  What  of  Threewit 
and  Farrar.?  And,  above  all,  what  of  Ruth? 
Would  Culvera  think  it  necessary  to  extend  his 

266 


Steve  Yeager 

vengeance  to  them?  Or  would  prudence  stay  his 
hand  after  he  had  executed  the  chief  offender? 

Culvera  was  a  good  politician.  The  chances 
were  that  he  would  not  risk  stirring  up  a  hornet's 
nest  by  shooting  a  man  as  well  known  in  the 
United  States  as  Threewit.  Since  Farrar  was  in 
the  same  case,  he  would  probably  stand  or  fall 
by  the  Lunar  director.  As  for  Ruth  —  her  life 
would  be  safe  enough.  There  was  no  doubt  of 
that.  But  —  what  of  her  future? 

Ramon  was  a  known  libertine.  No  scruples 
would  restrain  him  if  he  thought  the  game  was 
a  safe  quarry.  And  Steve  knew  with  a  sinking 
heart  that  he  could  offer  to  any  official  inquiry  of 
the  United  States  Government  a  plausible  story 
of  an  abandoned  woman  who  had  come  to  camp 
to  sell  her  charms  to  the  highest  bidder.  It  would 
be  easy  to  show  that  she  had  ridden  down  with  a 
man  suspected  of  being  a  rustler  and  known  to 
be  a  bad  character,  that  she  had  jilted  him  for 
Pasquale  who  was  already  married  and  a  good 
deal  more  than  twice  her  age,  and  that  after  the 
death  of  Gabriel  she  had  turned  at  once  to  his 
successor.  To  twist  the  facts  in  support  of  such 
an  interpretation  of  her  conduct  would  require 
only  a  little  distortion  here  and  there.  The  truth, 
twisted,  makes  the  most  damnable  lies. 

Without  any  heroics  Holcomb  had  given  his 
life  to  save  her  because  she  was  an  American 


Steve  Yeager 

woman,  Yeager  counted  himself  a  dead  man  in 
the  same  cause.  What  wrung  his  heart  now,  and 
set  him  Hmping  up  and  down  his  ceil  regardless  of 
the  pain  from  his  wounded  leg,  was  the  fear  that 
the  price  had  been  paid  in  vain.  Little  Ruth  I 
Little  Ruth!  His  heart  went  out  to  her  in  an 
agony  of  despair. 

While  he  clung  rigid  to  the  window  bars  of  his 
prison  the  rusty  lock  in  the  door  creaked.  The 
sergeant  with  the  cruel  little  eyes  entered  with 
three  men. 

*'  Ho,  ho !  The  general  wants  the  Gringo  to  cut 
out  his  heart  and  liver.  Come !  Let  us  not  keep 
him  waiting.  He  is  sharpening  the  knife  and  it 
may  lose  the  edge." 

A  horse  was  waiting  outside  and  the  prisoner 
was  assisted  to  the  saddle.  One  man  led  the 
horse  by  the  bridle  and  on  either  side  of  Yeager 
rode  a  second  and  a  third.  All  of  them  were 
armed.  The  new  general  was  taking  no  chances 
of  an  escape. 

At  sight  of  the  American  the  young  Mexican 
at  the  head  of  the  long  table  where  Pasquale  had 
held  his  councils  showed  a  flash  of  fine  teeth  in  a 
glittering  smile. 

"  Welcome,  Senor  Yeager.  How  is  the  wounded 
leg?" 

Steve  nodded  casuially.  "It's  talking  to  me, 
general,  but  I  reckon  it's  good  enough  to  do 

^68 


Steve  Yeager 

all  the  walking  I'll  ask  of  it,"  he  answered 
quietly. 

Culvera  turned  with  a  laugh  to  Ochampa. 
**He  is  what  the  Gringoes  call  game.  Is  it  not  so, 
major?" 

Ochampa,  his  wounded  leg  on  a  chair,  grunted. 

"Turn  about  is  fair  play.  How  is  your  leg, 
major?"  asked  Steve. 

The  major  glared  at  him.  "Is  it  that  I  must 
put  up  with  the  insolence  of  this  scoundrel,  gen* 
eral?"he  demanded. 

"Not  for  long,"  replied  Culvera  suavely. 
"Pedro  Cabenza,  or  Yeager,  or  whatever  you 
call  yourself,  you  have  been  tried  for  rebellion, 
insubordination,  and  conspiracy  to  kill  General 
Pasquale.  You  have  been  sentenced  to  be  shot  at 
sunset.  The  order  of  the  military  court  will  be 
carried  out  as  decreed." 

The  cowpuncher  took  it  without  the  twitching 
of  a  muscle  in  the  brown  face.  He  knew  there  was 
no  use  of  an  appeal  for  mercy  and  he  made  none, 

"So  I've  been  tried  and  convicted  without 
iven  being  present.  Fine  business.  I  reckon 
you've  got  an  explanation  handy  when  Uncle 
Sam  comes  asking  whyfor  you  miu'dered  an 
American  citizen." 

Culvera  lifted  in  mock  surprise  his  eyebrows. 
"An  American  citizen!  Surely  not.  I  execute 
Pedro  Cabenza,  a  peon,  enlisted  in  the  Army  of 

269 


Steve  Yeager 

the  North,  because  he  plotted  with  the  foes  of  the 
Republic  and  helped  prisoners  escape,  and  be- 
cause he  conspired  to  assassinate  our  glorious 
chief.  General  Pasquale."  Ramon  put  his  fore- 
arm on  the  table  and  leaned  forward  with  an 
ironic  smile.  "  But  your  point  is  well  made,  Pe- 
dro. Lies  spread  on  the  wings  of  the  wind.  I 
shall  forestall  any  slanderous  untruths  by  hav- 
ing a  photograph  taken  of  you  before  the  execu- 
tion, and  another  of  your  body  afterward.  I 
thank  you  for  the  suggestion." 

Though  it  told  against  him  the  American  knew 
this  was  a  bull's-eye  hit.  A  photograph  of  him  in 
his  rags,  with  his  scrape  and  his  ventilated  som- 
brero, face  as  brown  as  a  berry,  would  be  suffi- 
cient proof  to  exonerate  Culvera  of  the  charge  of 
having  shot  an  American.  Steve  had  made  up 
too  well  for  the  part.  At  worst  Culvera  could 
plead  a  regrettable  mistake. 

"You  make  out  a  good  case  against  Pedro 
Cabenza,  general,"  admitted  the  condemned 
man  evenly.  "'Good  enough.  We'll  put  him  in 
the  discard.  I  suppose  you  won't  deny  that 
Threewit  and  Farrar  and  Miss  Seymour  are 
Americans." 

With  a  confidential  grin  Ramon  noddedo 
**  You've  put  your  finger  on  the  pulse  of  my  diffi- 
culty. You  see,  I  talk  to  you  frankly  because  I 
have  the  best  of  reasons  for  knowing  you  will 

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Steve  Yeager 

never  betray  me.  No  doubt  you  recall  your  pro- 
verb about  dead  men  telling  tales.  Just  so.  Well, 
I  don't  know  what  the  devil  to  do  with  your 
friends  Farrar  and  Threewit.  I  have  nothing 
against  them,  but  if  I  send  them  home  they  will 
talk.  Would  it  be  best,  do  you  think,  to  arrange 
an  accident  for  them  while  on  the  way  back  to 
Arizona.^" 

"Not  at  all.  I'll  make  a  written  confession, 
and  they  can  sign  it  as  witnesses,  that  I  plotted 
against  Pasquale  and  was  implicated  in  his  mur- 
der. That  will  let  you  out  nicely,  general.  Then 
you  can  send  them  home,  and  the  young  lady  in 
their  care.  So  you  will  even  scores  with  me  quite 
safely  to  yourself." 

The  Mexican  commander  looked  steadily  out 
of  the  window  at  a  dog  scratching  himself  in  the 
street.  *'  I  don't  recall  mentioning  the  young  lady. 
Her  future  is  arranged." 

The  temples  of  the  cowpuncher  throbbed.  He 
pretended  to  misunderstand  the  meaning  of  the 
other  man.  **0f  course.  I  understand  that  you 
can  do  nothing  else  but  send  her  home.  The  one 
thing  that  would  bring  our  army  across  the  line 
on  the  jump  would  be  for  you  to  hurt  a  hair  of 
this  girl's  head.  You  could  kill  a  dozen  men  and 
get  away  with  it  quicker  than  you  could  to  insult 
one  little  girl.   But,  of  course,  you  know  that." 

The  fingers  of  Culvera  drummed  absently  on 
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Steve  Yeager 

the  table.  "  I  think  the  senorita  and  I  will  be  abfe 
to  adjust  the  matter  without  any  help  from  you. 
If  you  have  any  last  messages  for  her  I  '11  be  glad 
to  carry  them,  since  I  expect  to  see  her  this  even- 
mg. 

Steve  had  disdained  to  beg  for  himself,  but 
now  he  begged  for  the  girl  he  loved. 

"You're  a  man,  Ramon  Culvera.  Nobody 
ever  claimed  there  is  any  yellow  in  you.  Your 
father  was  a  gentleman  and  so  is  his  son.  Yom 
fight  with  men  and  not  with  timid  girls.  You 
would  n't  do  this  girl  dirt  because  she  is  alone 
and  has  no  friends  near.  Think  of  your  own 
sisters,  man." 

Ochampa  moved  restlessly  in  his  chair.  "We 
had  better  send  the  girl  home.  She  will  bring  us 
trouble  else." 

His  superior  officer  flashed  a  quick  look  at  him. 
*'That  is  a  bridge  we  shall  cross  when  we  come 
to  it.  Meanwhile  I  say  adios,  Senor  Yeager. 
Shall  I  send  you  the  padre  .^^ " 

"Thanks,  no!  But  remember  this.  You  stake 
your  whole  future  on  the  treatment  you  give  Miss 
Seymour.  If  you  don't  play  fair  with  her,  yo^' 
lose." 

Ramon  clapped  his  hands  three  times.  A  sol- 
dier entered  the  room. 

"Take  the  Gringo  back  to  his  prison,"  ordered 
Culvera. 

^72 


Steve  Yeager 

"The  order  stands,  general?  At  sunset?" 
asked  the  man. 

*'It  stands,"  assented  Ramon;  and  turned  to 
Ochampa:  **Have  you  agreed  on  a  price  for  that 
bunch  of  cattle  with  the  Flying  D  rustlers, 
major?" 


I 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

CULVERA    RECONSIDERS 

Spurred  by  Daisy  Ellington,  the  star  of  the 
border  Lunar  Company  had  kept  the  wires  hot 
with  messages  to  "the  old  man"  in  New  York. 
To  do  him  justice  the  president  of  the  company 
rose  to  the  occasion  as  soon  as  it  was  impressed 
upon  his  mind  that  Threewit  and  the  others  were 
in  serious  danger.  He  telegraphed  for  Lennox  to 
meet  him  in  Washington  and  hurried  to  the  Cap- 
itol himself  to  lay  the  case  before  the  senior 
Senator  from  New  York,  a  statesman  who  hap- 
pened to  be  under  political  obligations  to  him. 

The  Arizona  congressional  delegation  was 
called  into  conference  and  an  appointment  made 
to  meet  the  President  of  the  United  States.  As 
soon  as  Lennox  reached  the  city,  he  was  hurried 
to  the  White  House,  where  he  told  the  story  be- 
fore the  President  and  the  Secretary  of  State. 

The  case  called  for  prompt  action.  Instruc* 
tions  were  wired  to  Captain  Girard,  stationed 
with  his  company  at  Bisbee,  Arizona,  to  act  as 
a  special  envoy  from  the  President  to  General 
Pasquale. 

Girard,  with  a  corporal,  two  saddle-horses,  and 
274 


Steve  Yeager 

a  pack-horse,  entrained  at  once.  Four  hours  later 
he  was  dropped  at  a  tank  station,  from  which 
point  he  and  the  corporal  struck  straight  into  the 
barren  desert.  The  glare  of  the  afternoon  sun  was 
slanting  down  upon  them  when  they  started. 
Their  shadows  grew  longer  as  they  rode.  The 
sun,  a  ball  of  fire,  dropped  below  the  distant 
horizon  edge  and  left  a  sky  of  wonder  to  drive  a 
painter  to  despair. 

The  gold  and  crimson  and  purple  softened  as 
the  minutes  passed.  The  distant  ridges  were  no 
longer  flamed  with  edgings  of  fire.  A  deep  purple 
predominated  and  was  lightened  presently  to  a 
velvet  violet  haze.  Then  the  stars  came  out,  close 
and  cold  and  innumerable. 

Still  Girard  rode,  taking  advantage  of  the  cool 
breath  of  night.  Toward  morning  he  stopped  at 
a  sand-wash  where  three  or  four  dusty  cotton- 
woods  relieved  the  vegetation  of  mesquite,  pale 
verde,  and  cacti.  Among  the  rocks  a  spring  rose 
hesitant  to  the  surface  and  struggled  faintly  for 
life  against  the  palpitating  heat  and  thirsty 
drought  of  the  desert. 

The  corporal  hobbled  the  horses.  The  men 
stretched  themselves  in  the  sand  and  fell  into 
deep  sleep.  It  was  noon  when  they  awoke.  They 
ate,  lounged  in  such  shade  as  the  cottonwoods 
offered  from  the  quivering  heat,  and  waited  till 
mid-afternoon.    Having  saddled  and  repacked, 

275 


Steve  Yeager 

they  :  truck  again  across  the  dreary  roll  of  sand- 
hills and  washes.  When  Noche  Buena  lay  at  their 
feet  the  sun  was  low  in  the  sky. 

Into  the  dusty  main  street  of  the  village  the 
two  men  rode  at  a  walk.  A  sentinel  with  a  rifle 
stopped  them.  Girard  explained  that  he  wanted 
to  see  Pasquale. 

"He  is  dead  —  shot  by  a  Gringo  who  has  gone 
to  hell  already.  And  another  Gringo  will  be  shot 
when  the  sun  falls  below  the  hills,  and  perhaps 
another  to-morrow.  Who  knows  .^^  You,  too,  may 
pay  for  the  death  of  the  Liberator,"  jeered  the 
sentry. 

"Pasquale  dead  —  and  shot  by  an  American.^ " 
asked  the  captain  in  surprise. 

"As  I  have  said.  But  General  Culvera  killed 
the  dog  in  his  tracks.  Ho,  Manuel!  Call  an 
ojfficer.  A  Gringo  wants  to  see  the  general,"  he 
shouted  to  a  barefoot  trooper  crouched  in  the 
shade  of  an  adobe  house. 

Girard  explained  to  the  oflScer  that  he  was  a 
messenger  from  the  President  of  the  United 
States.  He  and  the  corporal  were  searched  and 
their  arms  removed. 

The  Mexican  officer  apologized.  "Since  Pas- 
quale was  murdered,  we  take  no  chances,"  he 
explained.  "You  understand  I  do  not  at  all 
doubt  you  are  what  you  say.  But  we  search  all 
strangers  to  make  sure." 

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Steve  Yeager 

After  Culvera  had  glanced  over  the  creden- 
tials of  Girard,  he  was  all  suavity.  "I  offer  you  a 
hundred  welcomes;  first  for  yourself,  as  an  oflScer 
of  the  army  of  our  sister  Republic,  and  second  as 
an  envoy  from  your  President,  for  whom  I  have 
a  most  profound  respect.  But  not  a  word  of  your 
mission  until  we  have  dined.  You  will  want  first 
of  all  a  bath  after  your  long  dusty  trip.  May  I 
offer  you  my  own  quarters  for  the  present  till 
arrangements  can  be  made.^" 

Captain  Girard  bowed.  "You  are  very  kind, 
general.  Believe  me,  I  appreciate  your  courtesy. 
But  first  I  must  raise  one  point.  I  have  been  told 
that  an  American  is  to  be  executed  at  sunset, 
which  is  almost  immediately.  You  will  under- 
stand that  as  a  representative  of  the  United 
States  it  is  necessary  that  I  should  investigate 
the  facts." 

Swiftly  Culvera  considered.  If  the  American 
officer  had  arrived  an  hour  later,  Yeager  would 
have  been  safely  out  of  the  way.  How  had  he 
discovered  already  that  an  American  was  to  be 
shot?  Was  it  worth  while  denying  it.?  But  what 
if  Girard  insisted  on  seeing  the  execution.'^  What 
if  he  asked  to  see  Yeager.'^  Ramon's  glance  swept 
the  obstinate  face  of  the  captain.  He  decided  it 
better  to  acknowledge  the  truth. 

"It  is  to  me  a  matter  of  profound  regret,"  he 
sighed.  "  The  man  enlisted  in  our  army  as  a  spy, 

277 


Steve  Yeager 

disguised  as  a  peon.  He  is  guilty  of  the  murder 
of  one  of  our  men  in  a  gambling-house.  He  at- 
tempted to  kill  General  Pasquale  a  short  time 
ago.  He  was  undoubtedly  in  league  with  the  man 
Holcomb,  the  assassin  of  our  great  general.  He 
shot  Major  Ochampa,  but  fortunately  the  major 
is  recovering.  The  man  is  a  border  ruffian  of  the 
worst  stamp." 

"May  I  talk  with  him,  general?" 

"But  certainly  —  if  the  man  is  still  living," 
assented  the  Mexican. 

The  American  officer  looked  straight  at  Ramon^ 
His  steady  eyes  made  no  accusation,  mirrored  no 
suspicion.  Culvera  could  not  tell  what  he  was 
thinking.  But  he  recognized  resentfully  a  com- 
pulsion in  them  that  he  could  not  safely  ignore. 

"With  your  permission  I  should  like  to  talk 
also  with  Miss  Seymour  and  the  two  moving- 
picture  men,"  said  Captain  Girard. 

The  Mexican  adventurer  announced  a  decision 
he  had  come  to  that  very  instant,  one  to  which 
the  inconvenient  arrival  of  the  envoy  from  the 
President  of  the  United  States  had  driven  him. 

"I  am  making  arrangements  to  have  them  all 
three  taken  safely  back  to  Arixico.  Between  you 
and  me,  captain,  old  Pasquale  was  something  of 
a  savage.  It  is  my  purpose  to  win  and  hold  the 
friendship  of  the  United  States.  I  don't  under- 
estimate Pasquale.   He  was  my  friend  and  chief 

278 


Steve  Yeager 

He  made  a  free  Mexico  possible.  But  he  was 
primitive.  He  did  not  understand  international 
relations.  He  treated  the  citizens  of  your  great 
country  according  to  his  whims.  That  was  a 
mistake.  I  shall  so  act  as  to  win  the  approval  of 
your  great  President." 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  hear  that.  The  surest  foun- 
dation upon  which  you  can  build  for  a  free  Mexico 
is  justice  for  all,  general.  And  now,  if  I  may  see 
Yeager." 

A  messenger  was  sent  to  bring  the  prisoner. 
He  found  an  officer  with  a  firing  party  already 
crossing  the  plaza  to  the  place  of  execution.  The 
prisoner  was  bareheaded,  ragged,  unkempt.  His 
arms  were  tied  by  the  elbows  behind  his  back. 
But  the  spirit  of  the  unbeaten  spoke  in  his  eyes 
and  trod  in  his  limping  step. 

"The  general  wishes  to  see  the  prisoner,"  ex- 
plained the  messenger  to  the  officer. 

The  party  wheeled  at  a  right  angle,  toward  the 
headquarters  of  Culvera. 

Steve  thought  he  understood  what  this  meant. 
Culvera  had  sent  for  him  to  gloat  over  him,  to 
taunt  him.  The  man  wanted  to  hear  him  beg  for 
his  life.  The  teeth  of  the  cowpuncher  clenched 
tightly  till  the  muscles  of  the  jaw  stood  out  like 
ropes.  He  would  show  this  man  that  an  American 
did  not  face  a  firing  squad  with  a  whine. 

At  sight  of  the  captain  of  cavalry  sitting  besid^^ 
279 


Steve  Yeager 

Culvera  the  heart  of  Yeager  leaped.  The  long 
arm  of  Uncle  Sam  had  reached  across  the  border 
in  the  person  of  this  competent  West  Pointer.  It 
m^.nt  salvation  for  Ruth,  for  his  friends,  possi- 
bly even  for  himself. 

"  Captain  Girard  wants  to  ask  you  a  few  ques- 
tions," Culvera  explained. 

Without  waiting  for  questions  Yeager  spoke. 
"Do  you  know  that  an  American  girl  is  held  pris- 
oner here,  captain,  —  that  Pasquale  was  driving 
her  to  a  forced  marriage  when  Holcomb  shot  him 
to  save  her.^" 

Girard  turned  toward  the  general,  a  question 
in  his  eyes. 

Ramon  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "I  told  you 
Pasquale  was  a  barbarian.  The  trouble  is  he  was 
a  peon.   He  took  what  he  wanted." 

"  Her  name  is  Ruth  Seymour.  She 's  a  fine  girl, 
captain.  You'll  save  her,  of  course,  and  see  that 
she  gets  home,"  continued  Steve. 

"I  have  the  promise  of  General  Culvera  to  see 
her  and  your  friends  safe  to  Arixico,"  replied 
Girard. 

"You'll  ride  with  them  yourself  all  the  way," 
urged  the  prisoner. 

"No  doubt.  But,  of  course,  the  word  of  Gen- 
eral Culvera  — " 

"  —  Is  worth  what  it  is  worth,"  Yeager  finished 
for  hiuGu 

280 


Steve  Yeager 

*'The  man  stands  in  the  shadow  of  death.  Le^ 
him  say  what  he  Hkes,"  said  the  Mexican  con- 
temptuously to  the  officer  beside  him. 

"You  are  charged  with  being  a  spy,  Mr. 
Yeager.  I  am  told  you  were  captured  in  disguise 
after  having  plotted  to  help  prisoners  escape," 
said  Girard. 

Yeager  nodded  quietly.  "Technically  I  am  a 
spy.  I  came  here  to  try  to  save  Miss  Seymour 
and  my  friends.  The  attempt  failed  and  I  was 
captured." 

"Are  you  a  spy  in  the  sense  that  you  were  in 
the  employ  of  the  enemies  of  General  Pasquale 
and  his  armies?" 

"  No.  Culvera  understands  that  perfectly  well. 
I  came  only  to  look  out  for  my  friends." 

Girard  knew  what  manner  of  man  Yeager  was. 
He  intended  to  save  his  life  if  it  could  be  done. 
This  would  be  possible  only  if  Culvera  could  be 
made  to  feel  that  it  woidd  cost  too  much  to  pun- 
ish him. 

"It  is  claimed  that  you  attempted  the  life  of 
General  Pasquale  once." 

"  Nothing  to  that.  I  was  a  prisoner,  condemned 
to  be  shot  in  the  morning.  He  came  to  my  cell 
and  offered  me  my  life  if  I  would  knife  Culvera 
in  the  back.  I  could  n't  see  the  proposition.  But 
I  got  a  chance,  knocked  him  down,  tied  him  up, 
and  slipped  out  in  his  serape.   Then  I  made  my 

^1 


Steve  Yeager 

getaway  on  the  horse  he  had  left  for  me  in  case  I 
came  through  with  the  knifing." 

Instantly  Culvera  knew  the  story  to  be  true. 
It  cannot  be  said  that  he  was  grateful  to  Yeager, 
but  the  edge  of  his  resentment  against  him  was 
dulled. 

"Sounds  like  a  plausible  story,  doesn't  it?" 
he  suggested  ironically.  "Why  should  Pasquale 
want  the  death  of  his  friend,  his  lieutenant,  the 
man  who  was  closest  to  him  among  all  his  fol- 
lowers.^" 

"Send  for  Juan  Garcia.  He  was  on  sentry  duty 
that  night.  Ask  him  as  to  the  facts,"  the  cow- 
puncher  proposed. 

Girard  turned  to  his  host  and  spoke  to  him  in 
a  low  voice.  "  General,  this  man  has  a  good  repu- 
tation at  home.  He  has  a  host  of  friends  in 
Arizona.  I  believe  he  is  speaking  the  truth.  Per- 
haps General  Pasquale  may  have  been  too  hasty. 
Let  us  send  for  all  the  witnesses  and  make  a 
thorough  investigation  of  the  charges  against 
him.  I  shall  be  called  to  Washington  after  I  have 
wired  my  report.  The  President,  no  doubt,  will 
question  me.  Make  it  possible  for  me  to  tell  him 
that  under  the  rule  of  General  Culvera  a  regime 
begins  that  is  founded  on  justice  for  all." 

Culvera  was  far  from  a  fool.  He  had  lived  in 
the  United  States  and  understood  something  of 
the  temper  of  its  people.  The  fall  of  Huerta  was 

282 


Steve  Yeager 

potent  proof  that  no  ruler  could  survive  in 
Mexico  if  the  Government  at  Washington  was 
set  in  opposition  to  him.  After  all,  the  life  of 
Yeager  was  only  a  small  matter.  Why  not  use 
him  as  a  pawn  in  the  game  to  win  the  approval  of 
the  big  Republic  to  the  north? 

With  his  most  engaging  smile  Ramon  offered 
his  hand  to  Captain  Girard.  **You  are  right. 
Pasquale  was  a  child,  a  creature  of  moods,  of 
foolish  suspicions  and  tempestuous  passions. 
Perhaps  this  man  tells  the  truth.  It  may  be  he 
has  been  condemned  unjustly.  You  and  I,  my 
friend,  shall  sit  in  judgment  on  him.  If  he  be 
guilty,  we  shall  condemn;  if  innocent,  acquit. 
Meanwhile  I  will  remand  him  to  prison  and  order 
the  execution  postponed.  Does  that  satisfy  you. 
captain?" 

The  American  officer  shook  hands  warmly. 
"  General,  it  is  a  pleasure  to  meet  a  man  like  you. 
Mexico  is  fortunate  in  having  such  a  son." 

Culvera  beamed.  "Gracias.  And  now,  cap- 
tain, —  first  a  bath,  then  dinner.  Afterwards  you 
shall  talk  with  the  moving-picture  men."  He 
turned  affably  to  Yeager.  **I  shall  give  orders 
that  you  be  given  a  good  dinner  to-night.  To- 
morrow we  shall  pass  judgment  on  you." 

Steve  nodded  to  the  West  Pointer.  "Much 
obliged,  captain." 


CHAPTER  XXVin 

AS   LONG   AS   LIFE 

Breakfast  was  served  to  Yeager  next  mom- 
ing  by  a  guard  who  either  knew  nothing  or  would 
tell  nothing  of  what  was  going  on  in  the  camp. 
After  he  had  eaten,  nobody  came  near  the  pris- 
oner for  hours.  Through  the  barred  window  he 
could  see  a  sentry  pacing  up  and  down  or  squat- 
ting in  the  shade  of  the  deserted  building  oppo- 
site.  No  other  sign  of  human  life  reached  him. 

His  nerves  were  keyed  to  a  high  tension.  Cul- 
vera  was  an  opportunist.  Perhaps  something  had 
occurred  to  make  him  change  his  mind.  Perhaps 
he  had  decided,  after  all,  not  to  play  for  the 
approval  of  the  United  States.  In  revolutionary 
Mexico  much  can  happen  in  a  few  hours. 

Steve  was  a  man  of  action.  It  did  not  suit  his 
temperament  to  sit  cooped  up  in  a  prison  while 
things  were  being  done  that  affected  the  happi^ 
ness  of  Ruth  and  his  own  life.  He  tried  to  per- 
suade himself  that  all  was  going  well,  but  as  the 
fever  of  his  anxiety  mounted,  he  found  himself 
limping  up  and  down  the  short  beat  allowed  him 
from  wall  to  wall. 

It  was  noon  before  he  was  taken  from  his  cell. 
S84 


Steve  Yeager 

Steve  counted  it  a  good  augury  that  a  saddle 
horse  was  waiting  for  him  to  ride.  Last  night  he 
had  limped  across  the  plaza  on  his  woimded  leg. 

He  and  his  little  procession  of  guards  cut 
straight  across  to  headquarters.  Culvera  sat  on 
the  porch  smoking  a  cigarette.  He  was  dressed 
immaculately  in  a  suit  of  white  linen  with  a  blue 
sash.  His  gold-trimmed  sombrero  was  a  work 
of  art. 

At  sight  of  Yeager  the  Mexican  general  smiled 
blandly. 

"Are  you  ready  to  take  a  long  journey,  Sefior 
Yeager?"  he  asked. 

The  heart  of  the  cowpuncher  lost  a  beat,  but 
he  did  not  bat  an  eye.  "What  journey?  The 
same  one  that  Holcomb  took?"  he  demanded 
bluntly. 

Culvera  showed  a  face  of  pained  surprise.  "  Am 
I  a  barbarian?  Do  you  think  me  another  Pas- 
quale?  No,  no,  senor.  You  and  I  have  had  our 
disagreements.  But  they  are  past.  To  tell  the 
truth,  I  always  did  like  the  way  you  see  a  thing 
through  to  a  fighting  finish.  Now  that  I  know 
you  are  not  the  ruffian  I  had  been  led  to  think 
you,  it  is  a  pleasure  to  me  to  tell  you  that  you 
have  been  tried  and  acquitted.  I  offer  regrets 
for  the  inconvenience  to  which  you  have  been 
put.  You  will  pardon,  is  it  not  so,  and  do  me  the 
honor  to  dine  with  me  before  you  leave?" 

285 


Steve  Yeager 

The  heels  of  the  Mexican  came  together,  he 
bowed,  and  offered  a  hand  to  the  range-rider. 

"Just  one  moment,  general.  All  that  listens 
fine  to  me,  but  —  what  are  the  conditions?" 

Ramon  made  a  gesture  of  regret  at  being  so 
sadly  misunderstood.  "Conditions!  There  are 
none." 

"None  at  all.?" 

"None.  Is  it  that  you  think  me  a  peddler 
instead  of  a  gentleman.?"  The  face  of  the  young 
Mexican  expressed  sorrow  rather  than  anger. 

Still  Steve  doubted.  "Let's  understand  each* 
other,  general.  Are  you  telling  me  that  I  can 
walk  out  of  that  door,  climb  into  a  saddle,  and 
keep  going  till  I  get  back  into  old  Arizona.?" 

"I  tell  you  that  —  and  more.  You  will  be  fur- 
nished an  escort  to  see  you  safely  across  the  line. 
You  may  choose  your  own  guard  if  you  doubt.'* 

"And  my  friends.?" 

"They  go,  too,  of  course." 

"All  of  them.?" 

The  Mexican  smiled.  "You're  the  most  sus- 
picious man  I  ever  knew.  All  of  them,  Senor 
Yeager." 

"Including  Miss  Seymour.?"  The  range-rider 
spoke  quietly,  but  his  eyes  were  like  swords. 

"  Naturally  she  will  not  wish  to  stay  here  when 
her  friends  leave." 

Steve  leaned  against  the  porch  post  with  a 
286 


Steve  Yeager 

deep  breath  of  relaxation.  **  If  I  'm  sleeping,  don't 
let  any  one  wake  me,  general,"  he  implored,  smil- 
ing for  the  first  time. 

**  I  confess  your  amazement  surprises  me,"  said 
Culvera  suavely.  **Did  you  think  all  Mexicans 
were  like  Pasquale.^  He  was  a  great  man,  but  he 
was  a  savage.  Also,  he  was  a  child  at  statecraft. 
I  used  to  warn  him  to  cooperate  with  the  United 
States  if  he  wished  to  succeed.  But  he  was  ignor- 
ant and  eaten  up  with  egotism." 

"You're  right  he  was,  general." 

**A  new  policy  is  now  in  operation.  In  freeing 
you  I  ask  only  that  you  set  me  and  my  army  right 
with  your  people.  Let  them  understand  that  we 
stand  for  a  free  Mexico  and  for  justice." 

The  hands  of  the  two  men  gripped. 

"I'll  sure  do  my  share,  general." 

"  We  're  to  have  a  Uttle  luncheon  before  you  go. 
Captain  Girard  and  your  friends  are  to  be  my 
guests.   You  will  join  us;  not  so?" 

"  Gracias,  general.   Count  me  in." 

The  black  eyes  of  the  Mexican  twinkled. "  Your 
wound  —  does  it  greatly  trouble  you,  senor.^^" 

"Some.  When  I  walk." 

"Too  bad.  I  was  going  to  ask  you  to  step  up- 
stairs and  tell  Senorita  Seymour  that  General 
Culvera  will  be  delighted  to  have  her  join  us  at 
limcheon.  But,  (rf  course,  since  your  leg  troubles 
you  —  " 

287 


Steve  Yeager 

*'It's  a  heap  better  already,  general.  You're 
giving  me  good  medicine." 

"Ah!  I  think  you  know  the  lady's  room.  But 
perhaps  I  had  better  call  a  peon." 

The  eyes  of  the  cowpuncher  were  bright. 
"Now,  don't  you,  general.  Keep  on  talking  and 
you  're  liable  to  spoil  what  you  've  said,"  answered 
Steve  with  his  old  gay  laugh. 

He  hobbled  out  of  the  room  and  up  the  stairs. 

The  door  of  Ruth's  room  was  open.  She  sat 
huddled  in  a  chair  looking  straight  before  her. 
There  were  shadows  under  her  young  eyes  that 
never  should  have  been  there.  Her  lissome  figure 
had  lost  its  gallantry,  the  fine  poise  that  had 
given  her  a  note  of  wild  freedom.  Steve  had  come 
up  so  quietly  that  she  evidently  had  not  heard, 
for  she  did  not  turn  her  weary  head  to  see  who  it 
was. 

He  stood  a  moment,  hesitating  on  the  thresh- 
old. She  sat  without  moving,  a  pathetic  picture 
of  despair  and  grief.  A  man  had  died  for  her  yes- 
terday. Another  man  was  to  die  to-day  because 
he  had  tried  to  save  her.  She  herself  was  in 
danger  still.  The  tragedy  of  life  had  carried  her 
beyond  tears. 

When  he  moved  forward  a  step  she  turned.  Her 
lips  parted  in  surprise.  The  dark  eyes  under  her 
tumbled,  blue-black  hair  stared  in  astonishment. 
Slowly  she  rose,  never  lifting  her  gaze  from  him. 

288 


Steve  Yeager 

Witk  a  little  cry  of  wonder  she  stretched  her  arms 
toward  this  man  who  had  come  to  her  as  if  from 
the  dead. 

In  two  strides  he  reached  her  and  swept  the 
girl  into  his  arms.  He  kissed  the  tired  eyes,  the 
tousled  hair,  the  soft  cheeks  into  which  the  color 
began  to  flow.  She  clung  to  him,  afraid  to  let 
him  go,  uncertain  whether  it  was  a  reality. 

At  last  she  spoke.  **It  is  you,  isn't  it?  I 
thought  .  .  .  they  told  me  .  .  .  that  you  .  .  ." 

He  laughed  softly  with  the  joy  of  it  all.  "I'm 
free  —  free  to  go  home  with  you,  Ruth,  —  back 
to  God's  country,  to  friends  and  life  and  love." 

"Are  you  going  to  take  me,  too.^^"  she  asked 
with  naive  simplicity. 

"Is  it  likely  I'd  go  without  you.^  Yes,  we're 
all  going.  Culvera  has  seen  the  light.  Soon  all 
this  will  be  like  a  nightmare  from  which  we  have 
escaped.  That's  right,  honey.  Cry  if  you  want 
to.  Little  girl,  little  girl,  how  am  I  ever  going  to 
tell  you  how  much  I  love  you.'^" 

She  wept  with  gladness  and  relief  while  he 
held  her  tightly  in  his  arms  and  promised  to  keep 
her  against  all  harm  as  long  as  life  lasted. 

And  afterward,  when  smiles  came  again,  they 
fell  into  the  inarticulate  babblings  that  from  the 
beginning  of  time  have  been  the  expression  of 
lovers. 

They  forgot  time,  so  that  neither  knew  how 
289 


Steve  Yeager 

long  it  had  been  before  a  denim-clad  soldier  stood 
saluting  in  the  doorway. 

Steve,  over  his  shoulder,  fired  a  question  at  the 
man.   "What  do  you  want .^" 

**The  compliments  of  General  Culvera,  senor 
and  senorita,  and  I  was  to  remind  you  that 
luncheon  has  been  waiting  twenty  minutes." 

Steve  and  Ruth  looked  at  each  other  and 
laughed.  They  went  downstairs  hand  in  hand. 


THE  END 


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